The Sunday evening suppers at Deer Trail were usually discontinued
after Christmas, and Leila was taken aback by the announcement. Her
father had not, she noted, shown his usual courtesy in asking her if
she cared to go. She correctly surmised that the proposed flight into
the country was intended as a disciplinary measure for her benefit.
She had promised to meet Thomas at the Burtons’ at eight o’clock, and
he could hardly have hit upon anything better calculated to awaken
resentment in her young breast. She began to consider the hazards of
attempting to communicate with Thomas to explain her inability to keep
the appointment. As there were to be no guests, the evening at Deer
Trail promised to be an insufferably dull experience and she must dodge
it if possible.
“Oh, don’t let’s do that!” she said. “It’s too cold, Dada. And the
house is always drafty in the winter!”
“Drafty!” Her father stared at her blandly. The country house was
steam-heated and this was the first time he had ever heard that it was
drafty. The suggestion of drafts was altogether unfortunate. “Had you
any engagement for this evening?” he asked.
“Oh, I promised Mrs. Torrence I’d go there for supper--she’s having
some people in to do some music. It’s just an informal company, but I
hate dropping out.”
Constance perceptibly shuddered.
“When did she give this invitation?” asked Mills, with the utmost
urbanity.
“Oh, I met her downtown yesterday. It’s no great matter, Dada. If
you’re making a point of it, I’ll be glad to go to the farm!”
“Mrs. Torrence must be a quick traveler,” her father replied, entirely
at ease. “I met her myself yesterday morning. She was just leaving for
Louisville and didn’t expect to be back until Tuesday.”
“How funny!” Leila ejaculated, though she had little confidence in her
ability to give a humorous aspect to her plight. She bent her head in
the laugh of self-derision which she had frequently employed in easing
her way out of similar predicaments with her father. This time it
merely provoked an ironic smile.
Mills, from the extension telephone in the living room, called Deer
Trail to give warning of the approach of four guests for supper; there
was no possible escape from this excursion. Thomas filled Leila’s
thoughts. He had been insisting that they be married before the
projected trip to Bermuda. The time was short and she was uncertain
whether to take the step now or postpone it in the hope of winning her
father’s consent in the intimate association of their travels.
Today Mills’s cigar seemed to be of interminable length. As he smoked
he talked in the leisurely fashion he enjoyed after a satisfactory
meal, and Constance never made the mistake of giving him poor food.
He had caught Leila in a lie--a stupid, foolish lie; but no one would
have guessed that it had impressed him disagreeably or opened a new
train of suspicions in his mind. Constance was admiring his perfect
self-restraint; Franklin Mills, no matter what else he might or might
not be, was a thoroughbred.
“If you don’t have to stop at home, Leila, we can start from here,” he
said--“at three o’clock.”
“Yes, Dada. I’m all set!” she replied.
Constance and Shepherd left the room and Leila was prepared for a sharp
reprimand, but her father merely asked whether she had everything
necessary for the Bermuda trip. He had his steamer reservation and they
would go to New York a few days ahead of the sailing date to see the
new plays and she could pick up any little things she needed.
“Arthur’s going East at the same time. We have some business errands in
New York,” he continued in a matter of course tone.
She was aware that he had mentioned Carroll with special intention, and
it added nothing to her peace of mind.
“That’s fine, Dada,” she said, reaching for a fresh cigarette. “Arthur
can take me to some of the new dancing places. Arthur’s a good little
hopper.”
She felt moved to try to gloss over her blunder in pretending to have
an engagement that evening with Helen Torrence, but her intuitions
warned her that the time was not fortunate for the practice of her
familiar cajoleries upon her father. She realized that she had outgrown
her knack of laughing herself out of her troubles; and she had never
before been trapped so neatly. Like Shepherd, she felt that in dealing
with her father she never knew what was in his mind until he laid his
cards on the table--laid them down with the serenity of one who knows
thoroughly the value of his hand.
She was deeply in love with Thomas and craved sympathy and help; but
she felt quite as Shepherd always did, her father’s remoteness and the
closing of the common avenues of communication between human beings.
He had always indulged her, shown kindness even when he scolded and
protested against her conduct; but she felt that his heart was as
inaccessible as a safety box behind massive steel doors. On the drive
to Deer Trail she took little part in the talk, to which Shepherd
and Constance tried, with indifferent success, to impart a light and
cheery tone. When they reached the country house, which derived a
fresh picturesqueness from the snowy fields about it, Mills left them,
driving on to the stables for a look at his horses.
“Well, that was some break!” exclaimed Constance the moment they were
within doors. “Everybody in town knows Helen is away. You ought to have
known it yourself! I never knew you to do anything so clumsy as that!”
“Oh, shoot! I didn’t want to come out here today. It’s a bore; nobody
here and nothing to do. And I object to being punished like a child!”
“You needn’t have lied to your father; that was inexcusable,” said
Constance. “If you’ve got to do such a thing, please don’t do it when
I’m around!”
“See here, sis,” began Shepherd with a prolonged sibilant stutter,
“let’s be frank about this! You know this thing of meeting Fred Thomas
at other people’s houses is no good. You’ve got to stop it! Father
would be terribly cut up if he found you out. You may be sure he
suspects something now, after that foolish break about going to Helen
Torrence’s.”
“Well, I haven’t said I was going to meet anyone, have I?” Leila
demanded defiantly.
“You don’t have to. There are other people just as clever as you are,”
Constance retorted, jerking off her gloves.
“I can’t imagine what you see in Thomas,” Shepherd persisted.
“I don’t care if you don’t. It’s my business what I see in him.” Leila
nervously lighted a cigarette. “Freddy’s a fine fellow; father doesn’t
know a thing against him!”
“If you marry him you’ll break father’s heart,” Shepherd declared
solemnly.
“His heart!” repeated Leila with fine contempt. “You needn’t think
he’s going to treat me as he treats you. I won’t stand for it! How
about that clubhouse you wanted to build--how about this sudden idea of
taking you out of the battery business and sticking you into the trust
company? You didn’t want to change, did you? He didn’t ask you if you
wanted to move, did he? I’ll say he didn’t! That’s dada all over--he
doesn’t ask you; he tells you! And I’m not a child to be sent to bed
whenever his majesty gets peevish.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” said Constance with a despairing sigh. “You’re
going to make trouble for all of us if you don’t drop Freddy!”
“You tell _me_ not to make trouble!”
Leila’s eyes flashed her scorn of the idea and something more. Her
words had the effect of bringing a deep flush to Constance’s face.
Constance walked to the fire and sat down. There was no counting on
Leila’s discretion; and if she eloped with Thomas the town would hum
with talk about the whole Mills family.
“Now, Leila,” began Shepherd, who had not noticed his wife’s
perturbation or understood the nature of the spiteful little stab that
caused it. “You’d better try to square yourself with father.”
“I see myself trying! You two make me tired! Please don’t talk to me
any more!”
V
She waited until Constance and Shepherd had found reading matter and
were settled before the fireplace, and then with the remark that
she wanted to fix her hair, went upstairs; and after closing a door
noisily to allay suspicions, went cautiously down the back stairs to
the telephone in the butler’s pantry. Satisfying herself by a glance
through the window that her father was still at the stables, she called
Thomas’s number and explained her inability to go to the Burtons’ where
they had planned to meet. Happy to hear his voice, she talked quite as
freely as though speaking to him face to face, and his replies over the
wire soothed and comforted her....
“No, dear; there’d only be a row if you asked father now. You’ll have
to take my word for that, Freddy.”
“I’m not so sure of that--if he knows you love me!”
“Of course I love you, Freddy!”
“Then let us be married and end all this bother. You’re of age; there’s
nothing to prevent us. I’d a lot rather have it out with your father
now. I know I can convince him that I’m respectable and able to take
care of you. I’ve got the record of the divorce case; there’s nothing
in it I’m ashamed of.”
“That’s all right enough; but the very mention of it would make him
furious. We’ve talked of this a hundred times, Freddy, and I’m not
going to let you make that mistake. We’re going to wait a little
longer!”
“You won’t go back on me?”
“Never, Freddy!”
“You might meet someone on the trip you’d like better. I’m going to be
terribly nervous about you!”
“Then you don’t trust me! If you don’t trust me you don’t love me!”
“Don’t be so foolish. I’m mad about you. And I’m sick of all this
sneaking round for a chance to see you!”
“Be sensible, dear; it’s just as hard for me as it is for you. And
people _are_ talking!”
In her absorption she had forgotten the importance of secrecy and the
danger of being overheard. The swing doors had creaked several times,
but she had attributed this to suction from an open window in the
kitchen. Constance and Shepherd would wonder at her absence; the talk
must not be prolonged.
“I’ve got to go!” she added hurriedly.
“Say you care--that you’re not just putting me off----”
“I love you, Freddy! Please be patient. Remember, I love you with all
my heart! Yes, always!”
As she hung up the receiver she turned round to face her father. He had
entered the house through the kitchen and might or might not have heard
part of her dialogue with Thomas. But she was instantly aware that her
last words, in the tense, lover-like tone in which she had spoken them,
were enough to convict her.
“Hello, Dada! How’s the live stock?” she asked with poorly feigned
carelessness as she hung the receiver on the hook.
Mills, his overcoat flung over his arm, his hat pushed back from his
forehead, eyed her with a cold stare.
“Why are you telephoning here?” he demanded.
“No reasons. I didn’t want to disturb Connie and Shep. They’re reading
in the living-room.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, I’m sure!”
“I thought so myself,” she replied, and took a step toward the
dining-room door. He flung out his arm arrestingly.
“Just a moment, please!”
“Oh, hours--if you want them!”
“I overheard some of your speeches. To whom were you speaking--tell me
the truth!”
“Don’t be so fierce about it! And do take off your hat! You look so
funny with your hat stuck on the back of your head that way!”
“Never mind my hat! It will be much better for you not to trifle with
me. Who was on the other end of that telephone?”
“What if I don’t tell you?” she demanded.
“I want an answer to my question! You told me one falsehood today; I
don’t want to hear another!”
“Well, you won’t! I was talking to Mr. Frederick V. Thomas!”
“I thought as much. Now I’ve told you as plainly as I know how
that you’ve got to drop that fellow. He’s a scoundrel to force his
attentions on you. I haven’t wanted to bring matters to an issue with
you about him. I’ve been patient with you--let him come to the house
and go about with you. But you’ve not played fair with me. When I told
you I didn’t like his coming to the house so much you began meeting
him when you thought I wouldn’t know it--that’s a fact, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Dada--only a few times, though.”
“May I ask what you mean by that? That a girl brought up as you
have been, with every advantage and indulgence, should be so basely
ungrateful as to meet a man I disapprove of--meet him in ways that show
you know you’re doing a wrong thing--is beyond my understanding. It’s
contemptible; it’s close upon the unpardonable!”
“Then why don’t you act decently about it?” She lifted her head and met
his gaze unwaveringly. “If you didn’t hear what I said I’ll tell you! I
told him I love him; I’ve promised to marry him.”
“Well, you won’t marry him!” he exclaimed, his voice quavering in
his effort to restrain his anger. “A man who’s left a wife somewhere
and plays upon the sympathy of a credulous young girl like you is a
contemptible hound!”
“All right, then! He’s a contemptible hound!”
Her insolence, her refusal to cower before him, increased his
anger. His time-tried formula for meeting emergencies by superior
strategy--the method that worked so well with his son--was of no use to
him here. He had lost a point in letting her see that for once in his
life his temper had got the better of him. He had been too tolerant of
her faults; the bills for his indulgence were coming in now--a large
sheaf of them. She must be handled with care--with very great caution,
indeed; thus far in his life he had got what he wanted, and it was not
for a girl whom he saw only as a spoiled child to circumvent him.
But he realized at this moment that Leila was no longer a child. She
was not only a woman, but a woman it would be folly to attempt to drive
or frighten. He was alarmed by the composure with which she waited for
the further disclosure of his purposes, standing with her back against
the service shelf, eyeing him half hostilely, half, he feared, with a
hope that he would carry the matter further and open his guard for a
thrust he was not prepared to parry. He was afraid of her, but she must
not know that he was afraid.
He took off his hat and let it swing at arm’s length as he considered
how to escape with dignity from the corner into which she had forced
him. Sentiment is a natural refuge of the average man when other
resources fail. He smiled benevolently, and with a quick lifting of the
head remarked:
“This isn’t the way for us to talk to each other. We’ve always been
the best of friends; nothing’s going to change that. I trust your good
sense--I trust”--here his voice sank under the weight of emotion--“I
trust your love for me--your love for your dear mother’s memory--to do
nothing to grieve me, nothing that would hurt her.”
“Yes, Dada,” she said absently, not sure how far she could trust his
mood. Then she walked up to him and drew her hand across his cheek
and gave his tie a twitch. He drew his arm about her and kissed her
forehead.
“Let this be between ourselves,” he said. “I’ll go around and come in
the front way.”
She went up the back stairs and reappeared in the living-room,
whistling. Constance and Shepherd were still reading before the fire
where she had left them.
After supper--served at the dining-room table tonight--Leila was
unwontedly silent, and the attempts of Constance and Shepherd to be gay
were sadly deficient in spontaneity. Mills’s Sunday, which had begun
with high hopes, had been bitterly disappointing. Though outwardly
tranquil and unbending a little more than usual, his mind was elsewhere.