Natalie Spencer was finding life full of interest that winter. Now and
then she read the headings in the newspapers, not because she was really
interested, but that she might say, at the dinner-party which was to her
the proper end of a perfect day: "What do you think of Turkey declaring her independence?"
Or: "I see we have taken the Etoile Wood."
Clayton had overheard her more than once, and had marveled at the
dexterity with which, these leaders thrown out, she was able to avoid
committing herself further.
The new house engrossed her. She was seeing a great deal of Rodney,
too, and now and then she had fancied that there was a different tone in
Rodney's voice when he addressed her. She never analyzed that tone,
or what it suggested, but it gave her a new interest in life. She was
always marceled, massaged, freshly manicured. And she had found a new
facial treatment. Clayton, in his room at night, could hear the
sharp slapping of flesh on flesh, as Madeleine gently pounded certain
expensive creams into the skin of her face and neck.
She refused all forms of war activity, although now and then she put
some appeal before Clayton and asked him if he cared to send a check. He
never suggested that she answer any of these demands personally, after
an experience early in the winter.
"Why don't you send it yourself?" he had asked. "Wouldn't you like it to
go in your name?"
"It doesn't matter. I don't know any of the committee."
He had tried to explain what he meant.
"You might like to feel that you are doing something."
"I thought my allowance was only to dress on. If I'm to attend to
charities, too, you'll have to increase it."
"But," he argued patiently, "if you only sent them twenty-five dollars,
did without some little thing to do it, you'd feel rather more as though
you were giving, wouldn't you?"
"Twenty-five dollars! And be laughed at!"
He had given in then.
"If I put an extra thousand dollars to your account to-morrow, will you
check it out to this fund?"
"It's too much."
"Will you?' "Yes, of course," she had agreed, indifferently. And he had notified
her that the money was in the bank. But two months later the list of
contributors was published, and neither his name nor Natalie's was among
them.
Toward personal service she had no inclination whatever. She would
promise anything, but the hour of fulfilling always found her with
something else to do. Yet she had kindly impulses, at times, when
something occurred to take her mind from herself. She gave liberally to
street mendicants. She sent her car to be used by those of her friends
who had none. She was lavish with flowers to the sick--although Clayton
paid her florist bills.