He sank back in the deeply padded seat, and felt tired and - in some
odd fashion - lonely. He would have liked to talk to Graham on the
way up-town, if only to crystallize his own thoughts. He would have
liked to be going home to review with Natalie the day's events, the
fine spirit of his men, the small difficulties. But Natalie hated
the mention of the mill.

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.