CHAPTER XXXVIII
One morning, in his mail, Clayton Spencer received a clipping. It
had been cut from a so-called society journal, and it was clamped
to the prospectus of a firm of private detectives who gave
information for divorce cases as their specialty.
First curiously, then with mounting anger, Clayton read that the
wife of a prominent munition manufacturer was being seen constantly
in out of the way places with the young architect who was building
a palace for her out of the profiteer's new wealth. "It is quite
probable," ended the notice, "that the episode will end in an
explosion louder than the best shell the husband in the case ever
turned out."
Clayton did not believe the thing for a moment. He was infuriated,
but mostly with the journal, and with the insulting inference of
the prospectus. He had a momentary clear vision, however, of Natalie,
of her idle days, of perhaps a futile last clutch at youth. He had
no more doubt of her essential integrity than of his own.
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