He knew she was spending most of her days at Linndale, and he had a vague idea that she and Rodney together had been elaborating still further on the plans for the house. It was the furtiveness of it rather than the fact itself that troubled him. He was open and straightforward himself. Why couldn't Natalie be frank with him?
It was Mrs. Haverford, punctually paying her dinner-call in an age which exacts dinner-calls no longer—even from its bachelors—who brought Natalie the news of Chris's going. Natalie, who went down to see her with a mental protest, found her at a drawing-room window, making violent signals at somebody without, and was unable to conceal her amazement.
“It's Delight,” explained Mrs. Haverford. “She's driving me round. She won't come in, and she's forgotten her fur coat. And it's simply bitter outside. Well, my dear, how are you?”
Natalie was well, and said so. She was conscious that Mrs. Haverford was listening with only half an ear, and indeed, a moment later she had risen again and hurried to the window.
“Natalie!” she cried. “Do come and watch. She's turning the car. We do think she drives wonderfully. Only a few days, too.”
“Why won't she come in?”
“I'm sure I don't know. Unless she is afraid Graham may be here.”
“What in the world has Graham got to do with it?” Natalie's voice was faintly scornful.
“I was going to ask you that, Natalie. Have they quarreled, or anything?”
“I don't think they meet at all, do they?”