There had been some question of her going away for the remainder of the summer, and he referred to this presently. He was hoping that she would go before the return of Mills and Leila. The old intimacy between the two houses would revive: it might be that Millicent was ready to marry Mills; and tonight Bruce did not doubt his own love for her--if only he might touch her hand that lay so near and tell her! In the calm night he felt again the acute loneliness that had so beset him in his year-long pilgrimage in search of peace; and he had found at the end a love that was not peace. After the verdict of the judges of the memorial plans was given it would be best for him to leave--go to New York perhaps and try his fortune there, and forget these months that had been so packed with experience. “We’re likely to stay on here indefinitely,” Millicent was saying. “I’d rather go away in the winter; the summer is really a joy. A lot of the people we know are staying at home. Connie and Shep are not going away, and Dale says she’s not going to budge. And Helen Torrence keeps putting off half a dozen flights she’s threatened to take. And Bud and Maybelle seem content. So why run away from friends?” “No reason, of course. The corn requires heat and why should we be superior to the corn?” “I had a letter from Leila today. She says she’s perishing to come home!” “I’ll wager she is!” laughed Bruce. “What’s going to happen when she comes?” He picked up his hat and they were slowly crossing the lawn toward the gate. “You mean Freddie Thomas.” “I suppose I do mean Fred! But I didn’t mean to pump you. It’s Leila’s business.” “I’ll be surprised if a few months’ travel doesn’t change Leila. She and Freddy had an awful crush on each other when she left. If she’s still of the same mind--well, her father may find the trip wasn’t so beneficial!” From her tone Bruce judged that Millicent was not greatly concerned about Leila. She went through the gates with him to his car at the curb. “Whatever it is you sent shooting through the night--here’s good luck to it!” she said as he climbed into his machine. “Do you suppose that’s the train?” She raised her hand and bent her head to listen. The rumble of a heavy train and the faint clang of a locomotive bell could be heard beyond the quiet residential neighborhood. He was pleased that she had remembered, sorry now that he had not told her what it was that he had committed to the mails. She snapped her fingers, exclaiming: “I’ve sent a wish with it, whether it’s to your true love or whatever it is!” “It wasn’t a love letter,” he called after her as she paused under the gate lamps to wave her hand. CHAPTER TWENTY I