“I think I’d cut it out. There’s no good in it—for you or anyone else.”
“I’ll consider that,” she replied slowly; then suddenly restless, she suggested that they go into the long enclosed veranda that connected the house with the conservatories.
As they walked back and forth—Leila in frivolous humor now—Bruce caught a glimpse of her father and Millicent just inside the conservatory door. They were talking earnestly. Evidently they had paused to conclude some matter they had been discussing before returning to the house. Millicent held three roses in her hand and lifted them occasionally to her face.
IV
Still beset by uncertainties as to whether he would increase his chances of happiness by marrying again, Mills was wondering just how a man of his years could initiate a courtship with a girl of Millicent Harden’s age. It must be managed in such a way as to preserve his dignity—that must be preserved at all hazards. They had been walking through the conservatory aisles inspecting his roses, which were cultivated by an expert whose salary was a large item of the farm budget. Millicent was asking questions about the development of new floral types and he was answering painstakingly, pleased by her interest.
“It’s unfortunate that the human species can’t be improved as easily. At least we don’t see our way to improving it,” he remarked.
He had never thought her so beautiful as now; her charm was rather enhanced by her informal dress. It would be quite possible for him to love her, love her even with a young man’s ardor.
“Oh, patience, sir!” she smiled. “Evolution is still going on.”
“Or going back! There’s our old quarrel!” he laughed. “We always seem to get into it. But your idea that we’re not creatures of chance—that there’s some unseen power back of everything we call life—that’s too much for me. I can understand Darwin—but you!”
“Honestly, now, are you perfectly satisfied to go on thinking we’re all creatures of chance?”