He thought it probable, too, that they were dining out. Yes, he
remembered. They were dining at the Chris Valentines. Well, that was
better than it might have been. They were not dull, anyhow. His mind
wandered to the Valentine house, small, not too well-ordered, frequently
noisy, but always gay and extremely smart.
He thought of Audrey, and her curious friendship with Natalie. Audrey
the careless, with her dark lazy charm, her deep and rather husky
contralto, her astonishing little French songs, which she sang with
nonchalant grace, and her crowds of boyish admirers whom she alternately
petted and bullied--surely she and Natalie had little enough in common.
Yet, in the last year or so, he had been continually coming across them
together--at the club, at luncheon in the women's dining room, at his
own house, Natalie always perfectly and expensively dressed, Audrey in
the casual garments which somehow her wearing made effective.
He smiled a little. Certain of Audrey's impertinences came to his mind.
She was an amusing young woman. He had an idea that she was always in
debt, and that the fact concerned her very little. He fancied that few
things concerned her very deeply, including Chris. But she knew about
food. Her dinners were as casual as her house, as to service, but
they were worth eating. She claimed to pay for them out of her bridge
winnings, and, indeed, her invitation for to-night had been frankness
itself.
"I'm going to have a party, Clay," she had said. "I've made two killings
at bridge, and somebody has shipped Chris some ducks. If you'll send me
some cigarets like the last, I'll make it Tuesday."
He had sent the cigarets, and this was Tuesday.
The pleasant rolling of the car soothed him. The street flashed by,
brilliant with lights that in far perspective seemed to meet. The shop
windows gleamed with color. From curb to curb were other cars like the
one in which he rode, carrying home other men like himself to whatever
the evening held in store. He remembered London at this hour, already
dark and quiet, its few motors making their cautious way in the dusk,
its throngs of clerks, nearly all women now, hurrying home to whatever
dread the night might hold. And it made him slightly more complacent.
These things that he had taken for granted before had since his return
assumed the quality of luxury.
"Pray God we won't get into it," he said to himself.
He reviewed his unrest of the night before, and smiled at it. Happiness.
Happiness came from a sense of achievement. Integrity and power, that
was the combination. The respect of one's fellow men, the day's
work well done. Romance was done, at his age, but there remained the
adventure of success. A few years more, and he would leave the mill to
Graham and play awhile. After that--he had always liked politics. They
needed business men in politics. If men of training and leisure
would only go in for it there would be some chance of cleaning up the
situation. Yes, he might do that. He was an easy speaker, and-The car drew up at the curb and the chauffeur got out. Natalie's car
had drawn up just ahead, and the footman was already opening the door.
Rodney Page got out, and assisted Natalie to alight. Clayton smiled. So
she had changed her mind. He saw Rodney bend over her hand and kiss it
after his usual ceremonious manner. Natalie seemed a trifle breathless
when she turned and saw him.