As they drove to Shepherd’s for dinner he good-naturedly combated Constance’s assertion that Confucius was as great a teacher as Christ. Leila said she’d like to adopt a Chinese baby; the Chinese babies in the movies were always so cute. Shepherd’s philanthropic nature had been deeply impressed by the idea of reducing human suffering through foreign missions. He announced that he would send the bishop a check. “Well, I claim it was a good sermon,” said Leila. “That funny old bird talked a hundred berries out of Dada.” When they reached the table, Mills reproved Leila for asserting that she guessed she was a Buddhist. She confessed under direct examination that she knew nothing about Buddhism but thought it might be worth taking up sometime. “Millie says there’s nothing in the Bible so wonderful as the world itself,” Leila continued. “Millie has marvelous ideas. Talk about miracles--she says the grass and the sunrise are miracles.” “Millie is such a dear,” Constance murmured in a tone that implied a lack of enthusiasm for grass and sunrises. “Millicent has a poetic nature,” Mills remarked, finding himself self-conscious at the mention of Millicent. Millicent’s belief in a Supreme Power that controls the circling planets and guides the destinies of man was interesting because Millicent held it and talked of it charmingly. “_Did_ you see that outlandish hat Mrs. Charlie Felton was sporting?” Leila demanded with cheerful irrelevance. “I’ll say it’s some hat! She ought to hire a blind woman to buy her clothes.” “I didn’t see anything the matter with her hat,” remarked Shepherd. “You _wouldn’t_, dear!” said Constance. “Who’s Charlie Felton?” asked Mills. “It seemed to me I didn’t know a dozen people in church this morning.” “Oh, the Feltons have lately moved here from Racine, Fond du Lac or St. Louis--one of those queer Illinois towns.” “Those towns may be queer,” said her father gently. “But they are not in Illinois.” “Oh, well, give them to Kansas, then,” said Leila, who was never disturbed by her errors in geography or any other department of knowledge. “You know,” she continued, glad the conversation had been successfully diverted from religion, “that Freddy Thomas was in college with Charlie Felton and Freddy says Mrs. Felton isn’t as bad as her hats.” Mills frowned. Shepherd laughed at this more joyously than the remark deserved and stammeringly tried to cover up the allusion to Thomas. It was sheer impudence for Leila to introduce into the Sunday table talk a name that could only irritate her father; but before Shepherd could make himself articulate Mills looked up from his salad. “_Freddy?_ I didn’t know you were so intimate with anyone of that name.”