II
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.