you're learning to fly; that you're in the secret
service?"

"Just because I find it stupid going about without a man!" Natalie eyed
her shrewdly, but there was no self-consciousness in Audrey's face.
If the stories were true, and there had been another woman, she was
carrying it off well.

"At least Chris is in France. I have to go, when I go, without Clay. And
there is no excuse whatever."

"You mean--he is working?"

"Not at night. He is simply obstinate. He says he is tired. I don't
really mind any more. He is so hatefully heavy these days."

"Heavy! Clay!"

"My dear!" Natalie drew her chair closer and lowered her voice. "What
can one do with a man who simply lives war? He spends hours over the
papers. He's up if the Allies make a gain, and impossible if they don't.
I can tell by the very way he slams the door of his room when he comes
home what the news is. It's dreadful."

Audrey flushed.

"I wish there were more like him."

But Natalie smiled tolerantly.

"You are not married to him. I suppose the war is important, but I don't
want it twenty-four hours a day. I want to forget it if I can. It's
hideous."

Audrey's mouth twitched. After all, what was the good of talking to
Natalie. She would only be resentful.

"How is the house coming on?" she asked.

She had Natalie on happy ground there. For a half-hour she looked at
blueprints and water-color sketches, heard Rodney's taste extolled,
listened to plans for a house-party which she gathered was, rather
belatedly, to include her. And through it all she was saying to herself,

"This is his wife. This is the woman he loves. He has had a child by
her. He is building this house for her. He goes into her room as Chris
came into mine. And she is not good enough. She is not good enough."

Now that she had seen Natalie, she knew why she had not seen her before.
She was jealous of her. Jealous and contemptuous. Suddenly she hated
Natalie. She hated her because she was Clayton Spencer's wife, with all
that that implied. She hated her because she was unworthy of him. She
hated her because she loved Clay, and hated her more because she loved
herself more than she loved him.

Audrey sat back in her chair and saw that she had traveled a long way
along a tragic road. For the first time in her brave and reckless life
she was frightened. She was even trembling. She lighted a cigaret from
the stand at Natalie's elbow to steady herself.

Natalie chattered on, a