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.




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