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Rodney Page, who was by way of being decorator
for the few, as he was architect for the many, had done the room,
with its plainly paneled walls, the over-mantel with an old painting
inset, its lion chairs, its two console tables with each its pair of
porcelain jars. Clayton liked the dignity of the room, but there
were times when he and Natalie sat at the great table alone, with
only the candles for light and the rest of the room in a darkness
from which the butler emerged at stated intervals and retreated
again, when he felt the oppression of it. For a dinner party, with
the brilliant colors of the women's gowns, it was ideal. For
Natalie and himself alone, with the long silences between them that
seemed to grow longer as the years went on, it was inexpressibly
dreary.
He was frequently aware that both Natalie and himself were talking
for the butler's benefit.
From the room his eyes traveled to Graham, sitting alone,
uninterested, dull and somewhat flushed. And on Graham, too, he
fixed that clear appraising gaze that had vaguely disconcerted
Natalie.


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