Helen was a wise woman and knew the perils of anticlimax. She turned and nodded to the maid.
“Please forgive me! I’ve been holding back the dinner!” Millicent exclaimed. “You must always stop me when I begin riding the clouds. Bruce, are you seeing Dale Freeman these days? Of course you are! Helen, we must study Dale more closely. She knows how to bring Bruce running!”
“I cheerfully yield to Dale in everything,” said Helen. “I must watch the time. They promise an unusually good show tonight—three one-act pieces and one of them by George Whitford; he and Connie are to act in it.”
“Connie ought to be a star,” Millicent remarked, “she gives a lot of time to theatricals.”
“There’s just a question whether Connie and George Whitford are not—well, getting up theatricals does make for intimacy!” said Helen. “I wish George had less money! An idle man—particularly a fascinating devil like George—is a dangerous playmate for a woman like Connie!”
“Oh, but Connie’s a dear!” exclaimed Millicent defensively. “Her position isn’t easy. A lot of the criticism you hear of her is unjust.”
“A lot of the criticism you hear of everybody is unjust,” Bruce ventured.
“Oh, we have a few people here who pass for respectable but start all the malicious gossip in town,” Helen observed. “They’re not all women, either! I suspect Mort Walters of spreading the story that Connie and George are having a big affair, and that Mr. Mills gave Connie a good combing about it before he went abroad!”
“Ridiculous!” murmured Millicent.
“Of course,” Helen went on. “We all know why Leila’s father dragged her away. But Connie ought really to have a care. It’s too bad Shep isn’t big enough to give Walters a thrashing. The trouble with Walters is that he tried to start a little affair with Connie himself and she turned him down cold. Pardon me, are we gossiping?”