But if he hadn’t seen Millicent he heard of her frequently. He was established as a welcome visitor at all times at the Freemans’ and the Hendersons’. The belated social recognition of the Hardens, in spite of the adroitness with which Mills had inspired it, had not gone unremarked.
There was, Bud said, always some reason for everything Mills did; and Maybelle, who knew everything that was said and done in town, had remarked in Bruce’s hearing that the Hardens’ social promotion was merely an item in Mills’s courtship of Millicent.
“I’ll wager he doesn’t make it! Millicent will never do it,” was Maybelle’s opinion, expressed one evening at dinner.
“Why not?” Bruce asked, trying to conceal his suspicion that the remark was made for his own encouragement.
“Oh, Millie’s not going to throw herself away on an old bird like Frank Mills. She values her youth too much for that.”
“Oh, you never can tell,” said Bud provokingly. “Girls have done it before this.”
“But not girls like Millicent!” Maybelle flung back.
“That’s easy,” Bud acquiesced. “There never was a girl like Millie—not even you, Maybelle, much as I love you. But all that mazuma and that long line of noble ancestors; not a spot on the whole bloomin’ scutcheon! I wonder if Mills is really teasing himself with the idea that he has even a look-in!”
“What you ought to do, Bruce, is to sail in and marry Millie yourself,” said Maybelle. “Dale and I are strong for you!”
“Thanks for the compliment!” exclaimed Bruce. “You and Dale want me to enter the race in the hope of seeing Mills knocked out! No particular interest in me! You don’t want me to win half as much as you want the great Mills to lose. Alas! And this is friendship!”