“I’d be ashamed if I didn’t know it!”
“Good boy! You have a taste!”
She was charming indeed in her evening gown, which he praised in ignorant terms that she might correct him. She remained standing, drawing on her gloves, and explaining that she was dining at the Tarletons and wasn’t highly edified at the prospect. Her going was a concession to her father. The Tarletons had a young guest whose grandfather had once been a business associate of her Grandfather Mills; hence she must sacrifice herself.
“Dad’s keen about the old family stuff. Just look at those grand old relics up there.” She indicated the line of family portraits with a disdainful gesture. “I come in and make faces at them when I feel naughty. I can’t tell my grandfathers apart, and don’t want to!”
“How lacking in piety!” said Bruce, who could have pointed out her Grandfather Mills! He bestowed a hasty glance at the portrait, satisfied that Leila at least would never detect her ancestor’s resemblance to himself. The servant, having sufficiently agitated the cocktails, withdrew. Leila, waiting till the door to the back stairs closed, began advancing with long steps and a rowdyish swagger toward the tray.
“Alone with a cocktail! And I’m going to a dry party! Hist!” She bent her head toward the door, her hand to her ear. “What’s the Colonel doing?” she asked.
“At the telephone; he’ll be here any minute.”
“Quick! Fill that glass—that’s the good sport!”
“Service for two only! You wouldn’t rob me!”
“Please—I don’t want my gloves to reek of gin—please!”