“I congratulate you, Mr. Storrs, on having fallen into good hands.”
“Oh, Miss Harden is taking splendid care of me!” Bruce replied.
“She’s quite capable of doing that!” Mills returned.
Bruce was studying Franklin Mills guardedly. A man of reserves and reticences, not a safe subject for quick judgments. His manner was somewhat listless now that the introduction had been accomplished; and perhaps aware of this, he addressed several remarks to Bruce, asking whether the music was all that the jazzy age demanded; confessed with mock chagrin that his dancing days were over.
“You only think they are! Mr. Mills really dances very well. You’d be surprised, Mr. Storrs, considering how venerable he is!”
“That’s why I don’t dance!” Mills retorted with a rueful grin. “‘Considering his age’ is the meanest phrase that can be applied to a man of fifty.”
Bud Henderson here interrupted them, declaring that dozens of people were disconsolate because Bruce had concealed himself.
“Of course you must go!” said Millicent.
“I hope to meet you again,” Mills remarked as Bruce bowed to him.
“Thank you, Mr. Mills,” said Bruce.