The next day she missed it from its place, and Clayton's man, interrogated, said he had asked to have it put away somewhere. He did not care for it. Natalie raised her eyebrows. She had thought the poems rather pretty.
One resolution Clayton made, as a result of that night. He would not see Audrey again if he could help it. He was not in love with her and he did not intend to be. He was determinedly honest with himself. Men in his discontented state were only too apt to build up a dream-woman, compounded of their own starved fancy, and translate her into terms of the first attractive woman who happened to cross the path. He was not going to be a driveling idiot, like Chris and some of the other men he knew. Things were bad, but they could be much worse.
It happened then that when Audrey called him at the mill a day or so later it was a very formal voice that came back to her over the wire. She was quick to catch his tone.
“I suppose you hate being called in business hours, Clay!”
“Not at all.”
“That means yes, you know. But I'm going even further. I'm coming down to see you.”
“Why, is anything wrong?”
He could hear her laughter, a warm little chuckle.
“Don't be so urgent,” she said gayly. “I want to consult you. That's all. May I come?”
There was a second's pause. Then,