“Go no further! I can see that you’ve been well trained. But it isn’t necessary to jolly me. I’m not half the fool I look. My self-respect didn’t want you to get the idea that I’m a wild woman. I was worried that evening about Leila--she has a heart of gold, but I don’t dare take any special interest in her for the absurd reason--what do you think?--I’ve been suspected of having designs on--our host!” She laughed merrily. Her mirth was of the infectious sort; Bruce laughed with her; one had to, even when the provocation was slight. “One doesn’t talk of one’s host,” she said with a deep sigh, “but I was talked about enough when I married Mr. Torrence; I’ll never try it again. But why am I taking you into my confidence? Merely that I want you to know my house isn’t a booze shop all the time! I’m going to keep my eye on you. If I see you wandering too close to the rifle pits, I’ll warn you! May I?” “Of course you may!” said Bruce, conscious of an honest friendliness in this proffer, but not at once finding words to express his appreciation. “Tell me, do I look as though I might be gassed?” “I don’t know whether you’re susceptible or not. But I like you! I’m going to prove it by doing you a favor. Come with me!” The supper was a buffet affair and the butler was distributing plates and napkins. At one side of the room Franklin Mills was talking to Millicent. Bruce had glanced at them occasionally, thinking with a twinge how young Mills looked tonight, noting how easily he seemed to be holding the girl’s interest, not as a man much older but as a contemporary. And he had everything to offer--his unassailable social position and the wealth to support it. As he crossed the room beside Mrs. Torrence, accommodating his long stride to her pattering step, he saw a frown write itself fleetingly on Mills’s brow. Millicent--in a soft blue Jersey sport dress, with a felt hat of the same shade adorned with a brilliant pheasant’s wing--kept her eyes upon Mills until he had finished something he was saying. “What’s it all about?” demanded Mrs. Torrence, laying her hand upon Millicent’s arm. “We knew you two were talking of something confidential and important; that’s why we’re interrupting you.” “Oh, we’re discussing the horrors of Sunday--and whether it should be abolished!” said Millicent. “And Mr. Mills won’t be serious!” “Sunday’s always a hard day,” remarked Mrs. Torrence. “I’m always worn out trying to decide whether to go to church or stay at home.” “And today?” asked Mills. “I went! The sermon was most disagreeable. Doctor Lindley told us we all know our duty to God and can’t pretend that we don’t!” “Is that what he preached?” asked Mills with a vague smile. “What do you think of the proposition?” “The man’s right! But it doesn’t make me any happier to know it,” Mrs. Torrence replied. “Next Sunday I’ll stay in bed.” She took Mills away for the avowed purpose of asking his private counsel in spiritual matters.