“Not if it's too disagreeable.”
“Good heavens, Natalie. One would think I bullied you!”
“Oh, no, you don't bully. It's worse. It's the way you look. Your face sets. Well?”
“I didn't feel unpleasant. It's rather my misfortune 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.”