The town house had been opened for their return, this being a special
concession to Leila, who disliked Deer Trail. Mills yielded graciously,
though he enjoyed Deer Trail more than any other of his possessions;
but there was truth in her complaint that when he was in town all day,
as frequently happened, it was unbearably lonely unless she fortified
herself constantly with guests.
Mills found all his business interests prospering. Though Carroll
was no longer in the office in the First National Building, the
former secretary still performed the more important of his old
functions in his rôle of vice-president of the trust company. Mills
was not, however, to sink into his old comfortable routine without
experiencing a few annoyances and disturbances. His sister, Mrs.
Granville Thornberry, a childless widow, who had taken a hand in
Leila’s upbringing after Mrs. Mills’s death--an experience that had
left wounds on both sides that had never healed--Mrs. Thornberry had
lingered in town to see him. She had become involved in a law suit by
ignoring Mills’s advice, and now cheerfully cast upon him the burden of
extricating her from her predicament. The joy of reminding her that she
would have avoided vexatious and expensive litigation if she had heeded
his counsel hardly mitigated his irritation. But for his sense of the
family dignity he would have declined to have anything to do with the
case.
Carroll had been present at their interview, held in Mills’s office,
and when he left Mrs. Thornberry lingered. She was tall and slender,
quick and incisive of speech. She absorbed all the local gossip and in
spite of her wealth and status as a Mills was a good deal feared for
her sharp tongue. It was a hot day and Mills’s patience had been sorely
tried by her seeming inability to grasp the legal questions raised in
the law suit.
“Well, Alice,” he said, with a glance at his desk clock. “Is there
anything else?”
“Yes, Frank; there’s a matter I feel it my duty to speak of. You know
that I never like to interfere in your affairs. After the trouble we
had about Leila I thought I’d never mention your children to you again.”
“That’s very foolish,” Mills murmured with a slight frown. He thought
she was about to attack Leila and he had no intention of listening to
criticism of Leila. Alice had made a mess of Leila’s education and
he was not interested in anything she might have to say about her.
And Alice was richly endowed with that heaven-given wisdom as to the
rearing of children which is peculiar to the childless. Mills wished
greatly that Alice would go.
“The matter’s delicate--very delicate, Frank. I hesitate----”
“Please, Alice!” he interrupted impatiently. “Either you’ve got
something to say or you haven’t!”
At the moment she was not his sister, but a woman who had precipitated
herself into a law suit by giving an option on a valuable piece of
property and then selling it to a third party, which was stupid and he
hated stupidity. He thought she was probably going to say that Leila
drank too much, but knowing that Leila had been a pattern of sobriety
for months he was prepared to rebuke her sharply for bringing him stale
gossip.
“It’s about Shep--Shep and Connie!” said Mrs. Thornberry. “You know how
fond I’ve always been of Shep.”
“Yes--yes,” Mills replied, mystified by this opening. “Shep’s doing
well and I can’t see but he and Connie are getting on finely. He’s
quite surprised me by the way he’s taken hold in the trust company.”
“Oh, Shep’s a dear. But--there’s talk----”
“Oh, yes; there’s talk!” Mills caught her up. “There’s always talk
about everyone. I even suppose you and I don’t escape!”
“Well, of course there have been rumors, you know, Frank, that you are
considering marrying again.”
“Oh, they’re trying to marry me, are they?” he demanded, in a tone that
did not wholly discourage her further confidences.
“I can’t imagine your being so silly. But the impression is abroad
that you’re rather interested in that Harden girl. Ridiculous, of
course, at your age! You’d certainly throw your dignity to the winds if
you married a girl of Leila’s age, whose people are said to be quite
common. They say Dr. Harden used to travel over the country selling
patent medicine from a wagon at country fairs and places like that.”
“I question the story. The Doctor’s a very agreeable person, and his
wife’s a fine woman. We have had very pleasant neighborly relations.
And Millicent is an extraordinary girl--mentally the superior of any
girl in town. I’ve been glad of Leila’s intimacy with her; it’s been
for Leila’s good.”
“Oh, I dare say they’re all well enough. Of course the marriage would
be a big card for the Hardens. You’re a shrewd man, Frank, but it’s
just a little too obvious--what you’ve been doing to push those people
into our own circle. But the girl’s handsome--there’s no doubt of that.”
“Well, those points are settled, then,” her brother remarked, taking
up the ivory paper cutter and slapping his palm with it. Alice was
never niggardly with her revelations and he consoled himself with the
reflection that she had shown her full hand.
“This other matter,” Mrs. Thornberry continued immediately, “is rather
more serious. I came back from California the week after you sailed and
I found a good deal of talk going on about Connie.”
“Connie?” Mills repeated and his fingers tightened upon the ivory blade.
“Connie’s not behaving herself as a married woman should. She’s been
indulging in a scandalous flirtation--if that’s not too gentle a name
for it--with George Whitford.”
“Pshaw, Alice! Whitford’s always run with Shep’s crowd. He’s a sort of
fireside pet with all the young married women. George is a fine, manly
fellow. I don’t question that he’s been at Shep’s a good deal. Shep’s
always liked him particularly. And Connie’s an attractive young woman.
Why, George probably makes love to all the women, old and young, he’s
thrown with for an hour! You’re borrowing trouble quite unnecessarily,
Alice. It’s too bad you have to hear the gossip that’s always going
around here; you take it much too seriously.”
“It’s not I who take it seriously; it’s common talk! Shep, poor boy, is
so innocent and unsuspecting! George hasn’t a thing to do but fool at
his writing. He and Connie have been seen a trifle too often on long
excursions to other towns when Shep, no doubt, thought she was golfing.
What I’m telling you is gossip, of course; I couldn’t prove anything.
But it’s possible sometimes that just a word will save trouble. You
must acquit me of any wish to be meddlesome. I like Connie; I’ve always
tried to like her for Shep’s sake.”
She was probably not magnifying the extent to which talk about his
son’s wife had gone. His old antagonism to Constance, the remembrance
of his painful scenes with Shep in his efforts to prevent his marriage,
were once more resurgent. Mrs. Thornberry related the episode of
the dramatic club play which had, from her story, crystalized and
stimulated the tales that had previously been afloat as to Connie’s
interest in Whitford. Mills promptly seized upon this to dismiss
the whole thing. Things had certainly come to a fine pass when
participation in amateur theatricals could give rise to scandal; it
merely showed the paucity of substantial material.
He was at pains to conceal his chagrin. His pride took refuge behind
its fortifications; he would not have his sister, of all persons,
suspect that he could be affected by even the mildest insinuation
against anyone invested with the sanctity of the Mills name. He told
her of having met some old friends of hers in London as he accompanied
her to the elevator. But when he regained his room he stood for some
time by the window gazing across the town to the blue hills. The
patriarchial sense was strong in him; he was the head and master of his
house and he would tolerate no scandalous conduct on the part of his
daughter-in-law. But he must move cautiously. The Whitfords were an old
family and he had known George’s father very well. With disagreeable
insistence the remembrance of his adventure in Laconia came back to him.