III Several weeks passed in which Mills exercised a discreet vigilance in observing Shep and Connie. Whitford was in town; Mills met him once and again at Shep’s house, but there were others of the younger element present and there was nothing in Whitford’s conduct to support Mrs. Thornberry’s story. He asked Carroll incidentally about the dramatic club play--as if merely curious as to whether it had been a successful evening, and Carroll’s description of Whitford’s little drama and of Connie’s part in it was void of any hint that it concealed a serious attachment between the chief actors. The usual social routine of the summer stay-at-homes was progressing in the familiar lazy fashion--country club dances, motor trips, picnics and the like. On his return Mills had called at once upon the Hardens. Millicent’s charms had in nowise diminished in his absence. With everything else satisfactorily determined, there would be no reason why he should not marry Millicent. His sister’s disapproval did not weigh with him at all. But first he must see Leila married, and he still hoped to have Carroll for a son-in-law. Leila had entered into the summer gaieties with her usual zest, accepting the escort of one and another available young man with a new amiability. One evening at the Faraway Country Club Mills saw her dancing with Thomas; but it was for one dance only, and Thomas seemed to be distributing his attentions impartially. A few nights later when they had dined alone at Deer Trail--Leila had suggested that they go there merely to please him--as they sat on the veranda all his hopes that her infatuation for Thomas had passed were rudely shattered. “Well, Dada,” she began, when he was half through his after-dinner cigar, “it’s nice to be back. It’s a lot more fun being at home in summer. There is something about the old home town and our own country. I guess I’m a pretty good little American.” “I guess you are,” he assented with a chuckle that expressed his entire satisfaction with her. The veranda was swept fitfully by a breeze warm sweet with the breath of ripening corn. It was something to be owner of some part of the earth; it was good to be alive, master of himself, able to direct and guide the lives of others less fortunately endowed than he with wisdom and power. Leila touched his hand and he clasped and held it on the broad arm of his favorite rocker. “Dada, what a wonderful time we had on our trip! I was a good little girl--wasn’t I? You know I was trying so hard to be good!” “You were an angel,” he exclaimed heartily. “Our trip will always be one of the happiest memories of my life.” At once apprehensive, he hoped these approaches concealed nothing more serious than a request for an increase in her allowance or perhaps a new car. “I want to speak about Freddy Thomas,” she said, freeing her hand and moving her chair the better to command his attention.