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I have my business, but you have nothing to do, and - I suppose you
wouldn't be interested in war-work, would you? There are a lot of
committees, and since I've been in England I realize what a vast
amount is needed. Clothes, you know, and bandages, and - well,
everything."
"Nothing to do," she looked up, her eyes wide and indignant. "But
of course you would think that. This house runs itself, I suppose."
"Let's be honest, Natalie," he said, with a touch of impatience.
"Actually how much time each day do you give this house? You have
plenty of trained servants. An hour? Two hours?"
"I'll not discuss it with you." She took up a typewritten sheet and
pretended to read it carefully. Clayton had a half-humorous,
half-irritated conviction that if he was actually hunting happiness
he had begun his search for it rather badly. He took the paper
from her, gently.
"What's this?" he inquired. "Anything I should not see?"
"Decorator's estimates for the new house." Her voice was resentful.


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