When he made no move toward her she gradually stopped crying, and gave way to the rage that was often behind her tears.
“Just try to divorce me, and see!”
“Good God, I haven't even mentioned divorce. I only said we must try to get along better. To agree.”
“Which means, I dare say, that I am to agree with you!” But she had one weapon still. Suddenly she smiled a little wistfully, and made the apparently complete surrender that always disarmed him.
“I'll be good from now on, Clay. I'll be very, very good. Only—don't be always criticizing me.”
She held up her lips, and after a second's hesitation he kissed her. He knew he was precisely where he had been when he started, and he had a hopeless sense of the futility of the effort he had made. Natalie had got by with a bad half-hour, and would proceed to forget it as quickly as she always forgot anything disagreeable. Still, she was in a more receptive mood than usual, and he wondered if that would not be as good a time as any to speak about his new plan as to the mill. He took an uneasy turn or two about the room, feeling her eyes on him.
“There is something else, Natalie.”
She had relaxed like a kitten in her big chair, and was lighting one of the small, gilt-tipped cigarets she affected.
“About Graham?”
“It affects Graham. It affects us all.”