II
He had made a fool of himself: this was Bruce’s reaction to the sudden fury that had caused him to destroy Millicent’s bust of Franklin Mills. He would never dare go near her again; and having thus fixed his own punishment, and being very unhappy about it, a spiteful fate ordained that he should meet her early the next morning in the lobby of the Central States Trust Company, where, out of friendly regard for Shepherd Mills, he had opened an account.
“So—I’m not the only early riser!” she exclaimed, turning away from one of the teller’s windows as he passed. “This is pay day at home and I’m getting the cook’s money. I walked down—what a glorious morning!”
“Cook—money?” he repeated stupidly. There was nothing extraordinary in the idea that she should be drawing the domestic payroll. Her unconcern, the deftness with which she snapped her purse upon a roll of new bills and dropped it into a bead bag were disconcerting. Her eyes turned toward the door and he must say something. She was enchanting in her gray fur coat and feathered hat of vivid blue; it hadn’t been necessary for her to say that she had walked four miles from her house to the bank; her glowing cheeks were an eloquent advertisement of that.
“Please,” he began eagerly. “About last night—I made a dreadful exhibition of myself. I know—I mean that to beg your forgiveness——”
“Is wholly unnecessary!” she finished smilingly. “The bust was a failure and I had meant to destroy it myself. So please forget it!”
“But my bad manners!”
She was making it too easy for his comfort. He wished to abase himself, to convince her of his contrition.
“Well,” she said with a judicial air, “generally speaking, I approve of your manners. We all have our careless moments. I’ve been guilty myself of upsetting bric-a-brac that I got tired of seeing in the house.”
“You ought to scold me—cut my acquaintance.”
“Who’d be punished then?” she demanded, drawing the fur collar closer about her throat.
“I might die!” he moaned plaintively.
“An irreparable loss—to the world!” she said, “for which I refuse to become responsible.” She took a step toward the door and paused. “If I may refer to your destructive habits, I’ll say you’re some critic!” She left him speculating as to her meaning. To outward appearances, at least, she hadn’t been greatly disturbed by the smashing of Mills’s image.
When he had concluded his errand he went to the enclosure where the company’s officers sat to speak to Shep, whom he had been avoiding since the encounter with Walters at the Athletic Club. Shep jumped up and led the way to the directors’ room.
“You know,” he began, “I don’t want to seem to be pursuing you, but”—he was stammering and his fine, frank eyes opened and shut quickly in his agitation—“but you’ve got to know how much I appreciate——”
“Now, old man,” Bruce interrupted, laying his hand on Shep’s shoulder, “let’s not talk of ancient history.”
Shep shook his head impatiently.
“No, by George! You’ve got to take my thanks! It was bully of you to punch that scoundrel’s head. I ought to have done it myself, but——” He held out his arms, his eyes measuring his height against Bruce’s tall frame, and grinned ruefully.
“I didn’t give you a chance, Shep,” said Bruce, drawing himself onto the table and swinging his legs at ease. “I don’t believe that bird’s been looking for me; I’ve been right here in town.”
“I guess he won’t bother you much!” exclaimed Shep with boyish pride in his champion’s prowess. “You certainly gave him a good one!”
“He seemed to want it,” replied Bruce. “I couldn’t just kiss him after he slapped me!”
“I told Connie! I didn’t care for what Walters said—you understand—but I wanted Connie to know what you did—for her!”
His eyes appealed for Bruce’s understanding. But Bruce, who had hoped that Shep wouldn’t tell Connie, now wished heartily that Shep would drop the matter.
“You made too much of it! It wasn’t really for anyone in particular that I gave Walters that little tap—it was to assert a general principle of human conduct.”
“We’ll never forget it,” declared Shep, not to be thwarted in his expression of gratitude. “That anyone should speak of Connie—Connie—in that fashion! Why, Connie’s the noblest girl in the world! You know that, the whole world knows it!”
He drew back and straightened his shoulders as though daring the world to gainsay him.
“Why, of course, Shep!” Bruce replied quietly. He drew a memorandum from his pocket and asked about some bonds the trust company had advertised and into which he considered converting some of the securities he had left with his banker at Laconia which were now maturing. Shep, pleased that Bruce was inviting his advice in the matter, produced data from the archives in confirmation of his assurance that the bonds were gilt-edge and a desirable investment. Bruce lingered, spending more time than was necessary in discussing the matter merely to divert Shep’s thoughts from the Walters’ episode.