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He put it down hastily and rose,
and the small cup overturned in its saucer, sending a smudge of
brown into the cloth.
"Dreadfully awkward of me!" he said. The clergyman's smile of
apology was boyish, but he was suddenly aware that his hostess was
annoyed. He caught his wife's amiable eyes on him, too, and they
said quite plainly that one might spill coffee at home - one quite
frequently did, to confess a good man's weakness - but one did not
do it at Natalie Spencer's table. The rector's smile died into a
sheepish grin.
For the first time since dinner began Natalie Spencer had a clear
view of her husband's face. Not that that had mattered particularly,
but the flowers had been too high. For a small dinner, low flowers,
always. She would speak to the florist. But, having glanced at
Clayton, standing tall and handsome at the head of the table, she
looked again. His eyes were fixed on her with a curious intentness.
He seemed to be surveying her, from the top of her burnished hair to
the very gown she wore.


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