Dangerous Days

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."