Perhaps there were some things he ought to discuss with Graham. He wondered how a man led up to such a thing.
Nolan bent toward him.
“I've been watching for a girl,” he said, “but I don't see her. Last time I was here I came with Chris. She was his girl.”
“Chris!”
“Yes. It stumped me, at first. She came and sat with us, not a bad little thing, but—Good Lord, Clay, ignorant and not even pretty! And Chris was fastidious, in a way. I don't understand it.”
The ancient perplexity of a man over the sex selections of his friends puckered his forehead.
“Damned if I understand it,” he repeated.
A great wave of pity for Audrey Valentine surged in Clayton Spencer's heart. She had known it, of course; that was why Chris had gone away. How long had she known it? She was protecting Chris's name, even now. For all her frivolity, there was something rather big in Audrey. The way she had held up at her dinner, for instance—and he rather fancied that the idea of his going into the army had come from her, directly or indirectly. So Chris, from being a fugitive, was already by way of being a hero to his friends.
Poor Audrey!
He made a mental note to send her some flowers in the morning.