"Say something, Marion," Natalie implored her.
"I don't think my opinion is of any particular importance. As Mr.
Spencer says, it's really a family matter."
Her insolence was gone. Marion was easy. She knew Natalie's game;
it was like her own. But this big square-jawed man at the head of
the table frightened her. And he hated her. He hardly troubled to
hide it, for all his civility. Even that civility was contemptuous.
In the drawing-room things were little better. Natalie had counted
on Marion's cooperation, and she had failed her. She pleaded a
headache and went up-stairs, leaving Clayton to play the host as
best he could.
Marion wandered into the music-room, with its bare polished floor,
its lovely painted piano, and played a little - gay, charming little
things, clever and artful. Except when visitors came, the piano
was never touched, but now and then Clayton had visualized Audrey
there, singing in her husky sweet voice her little French songs.
Graham moved restlessly about the room, and Clayton felt that he
had altered lately.
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