When Natalie roused from her nap that Sunday afternoon, it was to find
Marion gone, and Graham waiting for her in her boudoir. Through the open
door she could see him pacing back and forward and something in his face
made her vaguely uneasy. She assumed the child-like smile which so often
preserved her from the disagreeable.
"What a sleep I've had," she said, and yawned prettily. "I'll have one
of your cigarets, darling, and then let's take a walk."
Graham knew Natalie's idea of a walk, which was three or four blocks
along one of the fashionable avenues, with the car within hailing
distance. At the end of the fourth block she always declared that her
shoes pinched, and called the machine.
"You don't really want to walk, mother."
"Of course I do, with you. Ring for Madeleine, dear."
She was uncomfortable. Graham had been very queer lately. He would have
long, quiet spells, and then break out in an uncontrollable irritation,
generally at the servants. But Graham did not ring for Madeleine. He
lighted a cigaret for Natalie, and standing off, surveyed her. She was
very pretty. She was prettier than Toots. That pale blue wrapper, or
whatever it was, made her rather exquisite. And Natalie, curled up
on her pale rose chaise longue, set to work as deliberately to make a
conquest of her son as she had ever done to conquer Rodney Page, or the
long list of Rodney's predecessors.
"You're growing very handsome, you know, boy," she said. "Almost too
handsome. A man doesn't need good looks. They're almost a handicap. Look
at your father."
"They haven't hurt him any, I should say."
"I don't know." She reflected, eyeing her cigaret. "He presumes on them,
rather. And a good many men never think a handsome man has any brains."
"Well, he fools them there, too."
She raised her eyebrows slightly.
"Tell me about the new plant, Graham."
"I don't know anything about it yet," he said bluntly. "And you wouldn't
be really interested if I did."
"That's rather disagreeable of you."
"No; I'm just trying to talk straight, for once. We--you and I--we
always talk around things. I don't know why."
"You look terribly like your father just now. You are quite savage."
"That's exactly what I mean, mother. You don't say father is savage.
God knows he isn't that. You just say I act like father, and that I am
savage."