“Yes, it's Marion. What's wrong with that?”
“It's so silly, Graham. She's older than you are. And she's not really nice, Graham. I don't mean anything horrid, but she's designing. She knows you are young and—well, she's just playing with you. I know girls, Graham. I—”
She stopped, before his angry gaze.
“She is nice enough for you to ask here,” he said hastily.
“She wants your money. That's all.”
He had laughed then, an ugly laugh.
“There's a lot of it for her to want.”
And Natalie had gone away to shed tears of fury and resentment in her own room.
She was really frightened. Bills for flowers sent to Marion were coming in, to lie unpaid on Graham's writing table. She had over-drawn once again to pay them, and other bills, for theater tickets, checks signed at restaurants, over-due club accounts.
So she went to the Haverfords alone, and managed very effectually to snub Mrs. Hayden before the rector's very eyes.