“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.”
“Oh, come now, Natalie,” he protested. “It wasn't anything of the sort. The dinner was all right. The guests were—all right. I may have unconsciously resented your attitude about Doctor Haverford. Certainly he didn't angle for it, and I had no idea of throwing a sop to Providence.”
“That isn't what was wrong at dinner.”
“Do you really want me to tell you?”