Dangerous Days | Page 7

that my face - "
"Didn't you like my gown?"
"Very much. It seemed a trifle low, but you know I always like your
clothes." He was almost pathetically anxious to make up to her for that
moment's disloyalty in the library.
"There!" she said, brushing the papers aside. "Now we're getting at it.
Was I anything like as low as Audrey Valentine? Of course not! Her
back - You just drive me to despair, Clay. Nothing I do pleases you.
The very tone of that secretary of yours to-day, when I told her about
that over-draft - it was positively insulting!"
"I don't like overdrafts," he said, without any irritation. "When you
want extra amounts you have only to let me know."
"You are always finding fault with me," she complained. "It's either
money, or my clothes, or Graham, or something." Her eyes filled. She
looked young and absurdly childish. But a talk he had had with the
rector was still in his mind. It was while they were still at the table, and
Nolan had been attacking the British government.

"We get out of this world largely what we put into it," he had said.
"You give largely, Clay, and you receive largely. I rejoice in your
prosperity, because you have earned it."
"You think, then," he had asked, "that we only receive as we give? I
don't mean material things, of course."
The rector had fixed him with kindly, rather faded old eyes. "That has
been my experience," he said. "Happiness for instance only comes
when we forget our eternal search for it, and try to make others happy.
Even religion is changing. The old selfish idea of saving our own souls
has given way largely to the saving of others, by giving them a chance
to redeem themselves. Decent living conditions - "
He had gone on, but Clayton had not listened very intently. He had
been wondering if happiness was not the thing he had somehow missed.
It was then that he had decided to give the car. If, after all, that would
make for the rector's happiness -
"I don't want to find fault with you, Natalie," he said gravely. "I would
like to see you happy. Sometimes I think you are not. I have my
business, but you have nothing to do, and - I suppose you wouldn't be
interested in war-work, would you? There are a lot of committees, and
since I've been in England I realize what a vast amount is needed.
Clothes, you know, and bandages, and - well, everything."
"Nothing to do," she looked up, her eyes wide and indignant. "But of
course you would think that. This house runs itself, I suppose."
"Let's be honest, Natalie," he said, with a touch of impatience.
"Actually how much time each day do you give this house? You have
plenty of trained servants. An hour? Two hours?"
"I'll not discuss it with you." She took up a typewritten sheet and
pretended to read it carefully. Clayton had a half-humorous,
half-irritated conviction that if he was actually hunting happiness he
had begun his search for it rather badly. He took the paper from her,
gently.

"What's this?" he inquired. "Anything I should not see?"
"Decorator's estimates for the new house." Her voice was resentful.
"You'll have to see them some time."
"Library curtains, gray Chippendale velvet, gold gimp, faced with
colonial yellow," he read an item picked at random, "two thousand
dollars! That's going some for curtains, isn't it?"
"It's not too much for that sort of thing."
"But, look here, Natalie," he expostulated. "This is to be a country
house, isn't it? I thought you wanted chintzed and homey things. This
looks like a city house in the country."
He glanced down at the total. The hangings alone, with a tapestry or
two, were to be thirty-five thousand dollars. He whistled.
"Hangings alone! And - what sort of a house has Rodney planned,
anyhow?"
"Italian, with a sunken garden. The landscape estimates are there, too."
He did not look at them.
"It seems to me you and Rodney have been pretty busy while I've been
away," he remarked. "Well, I want you to be happy, my dear. Only - I
don't want to tie up a fortune just now. We may get into this war, and if
we do - " He rose, and yawned, his arms above his head. "I'm off to
bed," he said. "Big day to-morrow. I'll want Graham at the office at
8:30."
She had sat up in bed, and was staring at him. Her face was pale.
"Do you mean that we are going to get into this war?"
"I think it very likely, my dear."
"But if we do, Graham - "

"We might as well face it.