IV
The Sunday evening suppers at Deer Trail were usually discontinued after Christmas, and Leila was taken aback by the announcement. Her father had not, she noted, shown his usual courtesy in asking her if she cared to go. She correctly surmised that the proposed flight into the country was intended as a disciplinary measure for her benefit. She had promised to meet Thomas at the Burtons’ at eight o’clock, and he could hardly have hit upon anything better calculated to awaken resentment in her young breast. She began to consider the hazards of attempting to communicate with Thomas to explain her inability to keep the appointment. As there were to be no guests, the evening at Deer Trail promised to be an insufferably dull experience and she must dodge it if possible.
“Oh, don’t let’s do that!” she said. “It’s too cold, Dada. And the house is always drafty in the winter!”
“Drafty!” Her father stared at her blandly. The country house was steam-heated and this was the first time he had ever heard that it was drafty. The suggestion of drafts was altogether unfortunate. “Had you any engagement for this evening?” he asked.
“Oh, I promised Mrs. Torrence I’d go there for supper—she’s having some people in to do some music. It’s just an informal company, but I hate dropping out.”
Constance perceptibly shuddered.
“When did she give this invitation?” asked Mills, with the utmost urbanity.
“Oh, I met her downtown yesterday. It’s no great matter, Dada. If you’re making a point of it, I’ll be glad to go to the farm!”
“Mrs. Torrence must be a quick traveler,” her father replied, entirely at ease. “I met her myself yesterday morning. She was just leaving for Louisville and didn’t expect to be back until Tuesday.”
“How funny!” Leila ejaculated, though she had little confidence in her ability to give a humorous aspect to her plight. She bent her head in the laugh of self-derision which she had frequently employed in easing her way out of similar predicaments with her father. This time it merely provoked an ironic smile.
Mills, from the extension telephone in the living room, called Deer Trail to give warning of the approach of four guests for supper; there was no possible escape from this excursion. Thomas filled Leila’s thoughts. He had been insisting that they be married before the projected trip to Bermuda. The time was short and she was uncertain whether to take the step now or postpone it in the hope of winning her father’s consent in the intimate association of their travels.
Today Mills’s cigar seemed to be of interminable length. As he smoked he talked in the leisurely fashion he enjoyed after a satisfactory meal, and Constance never made the mistake of giving him poor food. He had caught Leila in a lie—a stupid, foolish lie; but no one would have guessed that it had impressed him disagreeably or opened a new train of suspicions in his mind. Constance was admiring his perfect self-restraint; Franklin Mills, no matter what else he might or might not be, was a thoroughbred.
“If you don’t have to stop at home, Leila, we can start from here,” he said—“at three o’clock.”
“Yes, Dada. I’m all set!” she replied.
Constance and Shepherd left the room and Leila was prepared for a sharp reprimand, but her father merely asked whether she had everything necessary for the Bermuda trip. He had his steamer reservation and they would go to New York a few days ahead of the sailing date to see the new plays and she could pick up any little things she needed.
“Arthur’s going East at the same time. We have some business errands in New York,” he continued in a matter of course tone.
She was aware that he had mentioned Carroll with special intention, and it added nothing to her peace of mind.
“That’s fine, Dada,” she said, reaching for a fresh cigarette. “Arthur can take me to some of the new dancing places. Arthur’s a good little hopper.”
She felt moved to try to gloss over her blunder in pretending to have an engagement that evening with Helen Torrence, but her intuitions warned her that the time was not fortunate for the practice of her familiar cajoleries upon her father. She realized that she had outgrown her knack of laughing herself out of her troubles; and she had never before been trapped so neatly. Like Shepherd, she felt that in dealing with her father she never knew what was in his mind until he laid his cards on the table—laid them down with the serenity of one who knows thoroughly the value of his hand.
She was deeply in love with Thomas and craved sympathy and help; but she felt quite as Shepherd always did, her father’s remoteness and the closing of the common avenues of communication between human beings. He had always indulged her, shown kindness even when he scolded and protested against her conduct; but she felt that his heart was as inaccessible as a safety box behind massive steel doors. On the drive to Deer Trail she took little part in the talk, to which Shepherd and Constance tried, with indifferent success, to impart a light and cheery tone. When they reached the country house, which derived a fresh picturesqueness from the snowy fields about it, Mills left them, driving on to the stables for a look at his horses.
“Well, that was some break!” exclaimed Constance the moment they were within doors. “Everybody in town knows Helen is away. You ought to have known it yourself! I never knew you to do anything so clumsy as that!”
“Oh, shoot! I didn’t want to come out here today. It’s a bore; nobody here and nothing to do. And I object to being punished like a child!”
“You needn’t have lied to your father; that was inexcusable,” said Constance. “If you’ve got to do such a thing, please don’t do it when I’m around!”
“See here, sis,” began Shepherd with a prolonged sibilant stutter, “let’s be frank about this! You know this thing of meeting Fred Thomas at other people’s houses is no good. You’ve got to stop it! Father would be terribly cut up if he found you out. You may be sure he suspects something now, after that foolish break about going to Helen Torrence’s.”
“Well, I haven’t said I was going to meet anyone, have I?” Leila demanded defiantly.
“You don’t have to. There are other people just as clever as you are,” Constance retorted, jerking off her gloves.
“I can’t imagine what you see in Thomas,” Shepherd persisted.
“I don’t care if you don’t. It’s my business what I see in him.” Leila nervously lighted a cigarette. “Freddy’s a fine fellow; father doesn’t know a thing against him!”
“If you marry him you’ll break father’s heart,” Shepherd declared solemnly.
“His heart!” repeated Leila with fine contempt. “You needn’t think he’s going to treat me as he treats you. I won’t stand for it! How about that clubhouse you wanted to build—how about this sudden idea of taking you out of the battery business and sticking you into the trust company? You didn’t want to change, did you? He didn’t ask you if you wanted to move, did he? I’ll say he didn’t! That’s dada all over—he doesn’t ask you; he tells you! And I’m not a child to be sent to bed whenever his majesty gets peevish.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” said Constance with a despairing sigh. “You’re going to make trouble for all of us if you don’t drop Freddy!”
“You tell me not to make trouble!”
Leila’s eyes flashed her scorn of the idea and something more. Her words had the effect of bringing a deep flush to Constance’s face. Constance walked to the fire and sat down. There was no counting on Leila’s discretion; and if she eloped with Thomas the town would hum with talk about the whole Mills family.
“Now, Leila,” began Shepherd, who had not noticed his wife’s perturbation or understood the nature of the spiteful little stab that caused it. “You’d better try to square yourself with father.”
“I see myself trying! You two make me tired! Please don’t talk to me any more!”