Mills paused in the doorway and bowed to the trio at the card table. “I’m sorry I interrupted your game!” he said, forcing a smile. “Do pardon me!”
He turned up the collar of his fur-lined coat and fumbled for the buttons. There seemed to Bruce a curious helplessness in the slow movement of his fingers.
Constance followed him to the outer door, and as it closed upon him walked slowly back into the living room.
“That’s a pretty how-d’ye-do! Leila ought to have a whipping! It’s after eight and nothing’s been seen of her since noon. But she hasn’t eloped—that’s one satisfaction! Freddy’s at the club all right enough.”
“She’s certainly thrown a scare into her father,” remarked Mrs. Burton. “He looked positively ill.”
“It’s too bad!” ejaculated Whitford. “I hope she hasn’t got soused and smashed up her car somewhere.”
“I wish Freddy Thomas had never been born!” cried Constance impatiently. “Leila and her father have been having a nasty time over him. And she had cut drinking and was doing fine!”
“Is there anything we can do?—that’s the question,” said Whitford, taking a turn across the floor.
Bruce was thinking hard. What might Leila do in a fit of depression over her father’s hostility toward Thomas?...
“I think maybe——” he began. He did not finish, but with sudden resolution put out his hand to Constance. “Excuse me, won’t you? It’s just possible that I may be able to help.”