“Millie is such a dear,” Constance murmured in a tone that implied a lack of enthusiasm for grass and sunrises.
“Millicent has a poetic nature,” Mills remarked, finding himself self-conscious at the mention of Millicent. Millicent’s belief in a Supreme Power that controls the circling planets and guides the destinies of man was interesting because Millicent held it and talked of it charmingly.
“Did you see that outlandish hat Mrs. Charlie Felton was sporting?” Leila demanded with cheerful irrelevance. “I’ll say it’s some hat! She ought to hire a blind woman to buy her clothes.”
“I didn’t see anything the matter with her hat,” remarked Shepherd.
“You wouldn’t, dear!” said Constance.
“Who’s Charlie Felton?” asked Mills. “It seemed to me I didn’t know a dozen people in church this morning.”
“Oh, the Feltons have lately moved here from Racine, Fond du Lac or St. Louis—one of those queer Illinois towns.”
“Those towns may be queer,” said her father gently. “But they are not in Illinois.”
“Oh, well, give them to Kansas, then,” said Leila, who was never disturbed by her errors in geography or any other department of knowledge. “You know,” she continued, glad the conversation had been successfully diverted from religion, “that Freddy Thomas was in college with Charlie Felton and Freddy says Mrs. Felton isn’t as bad as her hats.”
Mills frowned. Shepherd laughed at this more joyously than the remark deserved and stammeringly tried to cover up the allusion to Thomas. It was sheer impudence for Leila to introduce into the Sunday table talk a name that could only irritate her father; but before Shepherd could make himself articulate Mills looked up from his salad.