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"You remember the ones we saw in Italy? And the ceiling is blue and
gold. You'll love the ceiling, Clay."
There was claret with the luncheon, and Clayton, raising his glass,
thought of Chris and the water that smelled to heaven.
Natalie's mind was on loggias by that time.
"An upstairs loggia, too," she said. "Bordered with red geraniums.
I loathe geraniums, but the color is good. Rodney wants Japanese
screens and things, but I'm not sure. What do you think?"
"I think you're a better judge than I am," he replied, smiling. He
had had to come back a long way, but he made the effort.
"It's hardly worth while struggling to have things attractive for
you," she observed petulantly. "You never notice, anyhow. Clay,
do you know that you sit hours and hours, and never talk to me?"
"No! Do I? I'm sorry."
"You're a perfectly dreary person to have around."
"I'll talk to you, my dear. But I'm not much good at houses. Give
me something I understand."
"The mill, I suppose! Or the war!"
"Do I really talk of the war?"
"When you talk at all.


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