“I see. You thought of me as only a fair-weather friend. Square yourself by telling me everything.”
Their quiet corner of the veranda was soon invaded. Carroll, Whitford, Connie and Mrs. Torrence joined them, declaring that Millicent couldn’t be allowed to monopolize the hero of the hour.
“It’s only beginner’s luck; that’s all,” Bruce protested. “The pleasantest thing about it is that it’s my native burg; that does tickle me!”
“It’s altogether splendid,” said Carroll. “Having seen you on your native heath, and knowing how the people over there feel about you, I know just how proud you ought to be.”
“What’s the name of the place—Petronia?” asked Constance.
“Laconia,” Carroll corrected her. “You will do well to fix it in your memory now that Bruce is making it famous. I might mention that I have some cousins there—Bruce went over with me not so long ago just to give me a good character.”
“How very interesting,” Constance murmured.
“Mr. Mills once lived for a time in Laconia,” Carroll remarked. “That was years ago. His father had acquired some business interests there and the place aspired to become a large city.”
“I don’t believe I ever heard Mr. Mills speak of it; I thought he was always rooted here,” said Constance.
The party broke up at midnight, and Bruce drove Millicent home through the clear summer night. When he had unlocked the door for her she followed him out upon the steps.