I
Franklin Mills landed in New York feeling that his excursion abroad had been well worth while. Leila had been the cheeriest of companions and Mills felt that he knew her much better than he had ever known her before. They had stopped in Paris and he had cheerfully indulged her extravagance in raiment. Throughout the trip nothing marred their intercourse. Mills’s pride and vanity were touched by the admiring eyes that followed them. In countries where wine and spirits were everywhere visible Leila betrayed no inclination to drink, even when he urged some rare vintage upon her. The child had character; he detected in her the mental and physical energy, the shrewdness, the ability to reason, that were a distinguishing feature of the Mills tradition. Shep hadn’t the swift, penetrating insight of Leila. Leila caught with a glance of the eye distinct impressions which Shep would have missed even with laborious examination. Shep, nevertheless, was a fine boy; reluctant as he was to acknowledge an error even to himself, Mills, mellowed by distance, thought perhaps it had been a mistake to forbid Shep to study medicine; and yet he had tried to do the right thing by Shep. It was important for the only son of the house of Mills to know the worth of property.
The only son.... When Mills thought of Shep and Leila he thought, too, of Storrs—Bruce Storrs with his undeniable resemblance to Franklin Mills III. There were times when by some reawakening of old memories through contact with new scenes—in Venice, at Sorrento, in motoring into Scotland from the English lake country—in all places that invited to retrospective contemplation he lived over again those months he had spent in Laconia.
Strangely, that period revived with intense vividness. Released from the routine of his common life, he indulged his memories, estimating their value, fixing their place in his life. That episode seemed the most important of all; he had loved that woman. He had been a blackguard and a scoundrel; there was no escaping that, but he could not despise himself. Sometimes Leila, noting his deep preoccupation on long motor drives, would tease him to tell her what he was thinking about and he was hard put to satisfy her that he hadn’t a care in the world. Once, trying to ease an attack of homesickness, she led him into speculation as to what their home-folks were doing—Shep and Connie, Millicent, and in the same connection she mentioned Bruce.
“What an awful nice chap he is, Dada. He’s a prince. You’d know him for a thoroughbred anywhere. Arthur Carroll says his people were just nice country town folks—father a lawyer, I think Arthur said. The Freemans back him strong, and they’re not people you can fool much.”
“Mr. Storrs is a gentleman,” said Mills. “And a young man of fine gifts. I’ve had several talks with him about his work and ambitions. He’ll make his mark.”
“He’s good to look at! Millicent says there’s a Greek-god look about him.”
“Millicent likes him?” asked Mills with an effort at indifference which did not wholly escape Leila’s vigilant eye.
“Oh, I don’t think it’s more than that. You never can tell about Millie.”
This was in Edinburgh, shortly before they sailed for home. All things considered the trip abroad had been a success. Leila had not to the best of his knowledge communicated with Thomas—she had made a point of showing him the letters she received and giving him her own letters to mail. Very likely, Mills thought, she had forgotten all about her undesirable suitor, and as a result of the change of scene and the new amity established between them, would fulfill her destiny by marrying Carroll.