I
Bruce was finding his association with Freeman increasingly agreeable. The architect, amusingly indifferent and careless as to small things, was delighted to find that his new subordinate was not afraid to assume responsibility and grateful that Bruce was shielding him from the constant pecking of persons who called or telephoned about trivial matters.
“By the way, Storrs, can you run into the country this afternoon?” Freeman asked. “I promised Franklin Mills I’d meet him at his farm to look at the superintendent’s house. I’ve put him off several times and now that Brookville man’s coming in to talk house and I’ve got to see him. There’s not much to do but get data and make my apologies to Mills. Mrs. Freeman just called up to say she’s going out there to ride. Mills is having a party, so he’ll get through with you quickly. I don’t want him to think me indifferent about his work. He’s been a loyal client.”
“Yes, certainly,” Bruce replied, reluctant to trouble Freeman by refusing, but not relishing another meeting with Mills.
“Everybody knows where Deer Trail is—you’ll have no trouble finding it. I think he said he’d be there by two-thirty. Listen carefully to what he says, and I’ll take the matter up with him tomorrow. Now about the specifications for that Sterling house——”
It was thus that Bruce found himself at Deer Trail Farm on the afternoon of the day that Mills was giving his riding party. Mills, with whom punctuality was a prime virtue, came down the steps in his riding clothes and good-naturedly accepted Bruce’s excuses in Freeman’s behalf.
“Freeman’s a busy man, of course, and a job like this is a good deal of a nuisance. You can get the idea just as well. Can you ride a horse?”
Bruce, whose eyes had noted with appreciation the horses that had been assembled in the driveway, said that he could.
“All right, then; we’ll ride over. It’s nearly a mile and we’ll save time.”
He let Bruce choose a horse for himself from a dozen or more thoroughbreds, watched him mount with critical but approving eyes, and they set off over a road that led back through the fields. Mills sat a horse well; he had always ridden, he explained as they traversed the well-made gravel road at a trot. Finding that Bruce knew something of the American saddle stocks, he compared various breeds, calling attention to the good points of the horses they were riding.
When they reached the superintendent’s house Bruce found that what was required was an extension that would provide the family with additional sleeping rooms. He took measurements, made notes, suggested a few difficulties, and in reply to Mills’s questions expressed his belief that the addition could be made without spoiling the appearance of the house.
“I suppose I really ought to tear it down and build a new house, but this hundred acres right here has been in my family a long time and the place has associations. I hate to destroy it.”
“I can understand that,” said Bruce, busy with his notebook. “I think I have all the data Mr. Freeman will need, sir.”
As they rode back Mills talked affably of the country; spoke of the history and traditions of the neighborhood, and the sturdy character of the pioneers who had settled the region.
“I used to think sometimes of moving East—settling somewhere around New York. But I’ve never been able to bring myself to it. This is my own country right here. Over there—you notice that timber?—well, I’ll never cut that. This whole region was forest in the early days. I’ve kept that strip of woodland as a reminder of the men who broke through the wilderness with nothing but their rifles and axes.”
“They were a great race,” Bruce remarked....
Mills called attention to a young orchard he had lately planted, and to his conservatories, where he amused himself, he said, trying to produce a new rose.
“Won’t you stay and join in the ride?” he asked as they dismounted. “I can fit you out with breeches and puttees. I’d be delighted to have you.”
“Thanks, but I must get into town,” Bruce replied.
“Well, if you must! Please don’t let Freeman go to sleep on this job!”
Bruce, glad that his duty had been performed so easily, was starting toward his car when a familiar voice hailed him from the broad pillared veranda.
“Why the hurry? Aren’t you in this party?”
He swung round to find Millicent Harden, dressed for the saddle, standing at the edge of the veranda a little apart from the animated group of Mills’s other guests. As he walked toward her she came down the steps to meet him. The towering white pillars made a fitting frame for her. Here, as in the library of her own house, the ample background served to emphasize her pictorial effectiveness. Her eyes shone with happy expectancy.
“I don’t care if you are here on business, you shouldn’t be running away! On a day like this nobody should be in town.”
“Somebody has to work in this world. How are the organ and the noble knight?”
“Both would be glad to welcome you. Leila’s growing superstitious about you; she says you’re always saving her life. Oh, she confessed everything about last night!—how you ministered to her and set her on her father’s doorstep in fine shape. And she’s going to be a good girl now. We must see that she is!”
At this moment Leila detached herself from the company on the veranda and called his attention to the fact that Mrs. Freeman was trying to bow to him. Mills, who had been discussing the fitness of one of the horses with his superintendent, announced that he was ready to start.
“I wish you were coming along,” said Leila; “there’s scads of horses. We’d all adore having you!”
“I’d adore coming!” Bruce answered. “But I’ve really got to skip.”
“I’ll tell Dada to ask you another time. Dada isn’t at all bad when you know him, is he, Millie?”
“Oh, one learns to tolerate him!” said Millicent teasingly.
“You might like driving through the farm—good road all the way from that tall elm down there,” suggested Leila, “and it takes you through our woods. The maples are putting on their pink bonnets. There’s a winding stretch over yonder that’s a little wild, but it’s interesting, and you can’t get lost. It would be a shame to dash back to town without seeing something of this gorgeous day!”
“All right, thanks; I’ll try it,” said Bruce.
With his roadster in motion he wondered dejectedly whether there was any way of remaining in the town and yet avoiding Franklin Mills and his family. But the sight of Millicent had heartened him. The glowing woodlands were brighter for his words with her. He wished he might have taken her away from Mills and his party and ridden alone with her in the golden haze of the loveliest of autumn afternoons....
Suddenly when he was beyond the Deer Trail boundaries and running along slowly he came upon a car drawn up close to the stake-and-rider fence that enclosed a strip of woodland. His quiet approach over the soft winding road had not been noted by the two occupants of the car, a man and a woman.
Two lovers, presumably, who had sought a lonely spot where they were unlikely to be observed, and Bruce was about to speed his car past them when the woman lifted her head with an involuntary cry of surprise that caused him, quite as involuntarily, to turn his gaze upon her. It was Constance Mills; her companion was George Whitford.
“Hello, there!” Whitford cried, and Bruce stopped his car and got out. “Mrs. Mills and I are out looking at the scenery. We started for the Faraway Club, but lost interest.”
“Isn’t this a heavenly day?” remarked Mrs. Mills with entire serenity. “George and I have been talking poetry—an ideal time for it!” She held up a book. “Yeats—he’s so marvelous! Where on earth are you wandering to?”
“I’ve been to Deer Trail—a little errand with Mr. Mills for my boss.”
“Oh, is Mr. Mills at the farm? What is it—a party?” she asked carelessly.
“Yes, Miss Mills, Miss Harden, Mrs. Torrence and Mrs. Freeman are there to ride—I didn’t make them all out.”
“It sounds quite gay,” she said languidly. “I’ve thought a lot about our talk yesterday. You evidently delivered Leila home without trouble. It was awfully sweet of you, I’m sure. I don’t believe we’ll go in to the farm, George. I think a crowd of people would bore me today, and we must get back to town.”
Whitford started his car, and as they moved away Constance leaned out and smiled and waved her hand. Bruce stood for a moment gazing after them, deep in thought. Constance Mills, he decided, was really a very clever woman.