facing her. Her hair was arranged in a loose knot on top of her
head, and there was a tiny space, perhaps a quarter of an inch,
slightly darker than the rest. He realized with a little start that
she had had her hair touched up during his absence. Still, she
looked very pretty, her skin slightly glistening with its night's
bath of cold cream, her slim arms lying out on the blue silk
eiderdown coverlet.

"I told Doctor Haverford to-night that we would like to give him a
car, Natalie," he began directly. It was typical of him, the "we."

"A car? What for?"

"To ride about in, my dear. It's rather a large parish, you know.
And I don't feel exactly comfortable seeing him tramping along when
most people are awheel. He's not very young."

"He'll kill himself, that's all."

"Well, that's rather up to Providence, of course."

"You are throwing a sop to Providence, aren't you?" she asked
shrewdly. "Throwing bread on the waters! I daresay he angled for
it. You're easy, Clay. Give you a good dinner - it was a nice
dinner, wasn't it?"

"A very nice dinner," he assented. But at the tone she looked up.

"Well, what was wrong?" she demanded. "I saw when I went out that
you were angry about something. Your face was awful."