She was jealous of Clayton those days. Some times she found the boy's
eyes fixed on his father, with admiration and something more. She was
jealous of the things they had in common, of the days at the mill, of
the bits of discussion after dinner, when Clayton sat back with his
cigar, and Graham voiced, as new discoveries, things about the work that
Clayton had realized for years.
He always listened gravely, with no hint of patronage. But Natalie would
break in now and then, impatient of a conversation that excluded her.
"Your father knows all these things, Graham," she said once. "You talk
as though you'd just discovered the mill, like Columbus discovering
America."
"Not at all," Clayton said, hastily. "He has a new viewpoint. I am
greatly interested. Go on, Graham."
But the boy's enthusiasm had died. He grew self-conscious, apologetic.
And Clayton felt a resentment that was close to despair.
The second of April fell on a Saturday. Congress, having ended the
session the fourth of March, had been hastily reconvened, and on the
evening of that day, Saturday, at half past eight, the President went
before the two Houses in joint session.
Much to Clayton's disgust, he found on returning home that they were
dining out.
"Only at the Mackenzies. It's not a party," Natalie said. As usual, she
was before the dressing-table, and she spoke to his reflection in
the mirror. "I should think you could do that, without looking like a
thunder-cloud. Goodness knows we've been quiet enough this Lent."
"You know Congress has been re-convened?"
"I don't know why that should interfere."
"It's rather a serious time." He tried very hard to speak pleasantly.
Her engrossment in her own reflection irritated him, so he did not look
at her. "But of course I'll go."
"Every time is a serious time with you lately," she flung after him. Her
tone was not disagreeable. She was merely restating an old grievance. A
few moments later he heard her calling through the open door.
"I got some wonderful old rugs to-day, Clay."
"Yes?"
"You'll scream when you pay for them."
"I've lost my voice screaming, my dear."
"You'll love these. They have the softest colors, dead rose, and faded
blue, and old copper tones."
"I'm very glad you're pleased."
She was in high good humor when they started. Clayton, trying to meet
her conversational demands found himself wondering if the significance
of what was to happen in Washington that night had struck home to her.
If it had, and she could still be cheerful, then it was because she had
forced a promise from Graham.