"That is a cruel misstatement, Natalie. She did nothing of the sort."
"You needn't bite me, you know. He went, and had about as much interest
in this war as--as--"
"As you have," he finished. And had gone out, leaving Natalie staring
after him.
He was more careful after that, but the situation galled him. He was no
hypocrite, but there was no need of wounding Natalie unnecessarily. And
that, after all, was the crux of the whole situation. Natalie. It was
not Natalie's fault that he had found the woman of his heart too late.
He had no thought of blame for her. In decency, there was only one thing
to do. He could not play the lover to her, but then he had not done that
for a very long time. He could see, however, that she was not hurt.
Perhaps, in all her futile life, Natalie had, for all her complaining,
never been so content in her husband as in those early spring months
when she had completely lost him. He made no demands whatever. In
the small attentions, which he had never neglected, he was even more
assiduous. He paid her ever-increasing bills without comment. He
submitted, in those tense days when every day made the national
situation more precarious, to hours of discussion as to the country
house, to complaints as to his own lack of social instinct, and to that
new phase of her attitude toward Marion Hayden that left him baffled and
perplexed.
Then, on the Sunday when he left Graham and Marion together at the
house, he met Audrey quite by accident in the park. He was almost
incredulous at first. She came like the answer to prayer, a little tired
around the eyes, showing the strain of the past weeks, but with that
same easy walk and unconscious elegance that marked her, always.
She was not alone. There was a tall blonde girl beside her, hideously
dressed, but with a pleasant, shallow face. Just before they met Audrey
stopped and held out her hand.
"Then you'll let me know, Clare?"
"Thank you. I will, indeed, Mrs. Valentine."
With a curious glance at Clayton the girl went on. Audrey smiled at him.
"Please don't run!" she said. "There are people looking. It would be so
conspicuous."
"Run!" he replied. He stood looking down at her, and at something in his
eyes her smile died.
"It's too wonderful, Clay."
For a moment he could not speak. After all those weeks of hunger for her
there was no power in him to dissemble. He felt a mad, boyish impulse to
hold out his arms to her, Malacca stick, gloves, and all!