Some
such destiny, she hoped, would come to Milly Ridge....
When at last, one drearily hot September day, Milly got back to the
little box of a house on West Laurence Avenue, home seemed unendurably
sordid and mean, stifling. Her father was sitting on the stoop in his
shirt-sleeves, and had eased his feet by pushing off his shoes.
Discipline had grown lax in Milly's absence. Her first sensation of
revolt came at that moment.
"Oh, father--you oughtn't to look like that!" she said, kissing him.
"What's the harm? Nobody's home 'round here. All your swell friends are
at the seashore."
"But, father!"
"Well, Milly, so you decided to come home at last?"
Grandma Ridge had crept out from the house and was smiling icily.
Secretly both the older people were pleased with Milly's social success,
but they tempered their feelings in good puritan fashion with a note of
reproof.
That evening the Snowdens came in for the game of cards. Snowden was
plainly embarrassed at meeting Milly. "Good evening, Mr. Snowden, how
are you? and Mrs. Snowden?" she asked graciously, with her new air of
aloofness, as if he were an utter stranger. "You've come to play cards.
I'm so glad--papa enjoys having you so much!"
She felt that she was handling the situation like a perfect lady, and
she no longer had any real resentment. She even consented to take a hand
in the game.
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