Of her dressing-room she was not so sure. It's ivory-paneled walls,
behind whose sliding panels were hung her gowns, her silk and satin
chiffon negligees, her wraps and summer furs - all the vast
paraphernalia with which she armed herself, as a knight with armor
- the walls seemed cold. She hated old-blue, but old-blue Rodney
had insisted upon.
He had held a bit of the taffeta to her cheek.
"It is delicious, Natalie," he said. "It makes your eyes as blue
as the sea."
"Always a decorator!" she had replied, smiling.
And, standing in her blue room, the first day of her arrival, and
frowning at her reflection, she remembered his reply.
"Because I have no right, with you, to be anything else." He had
stopped for a moment, and had absently folded and refolded the bit
of blue silk. Suddenly he said, "What do you think I am going to
do, now that our work together is done? Have you ever thought about
that, Natalie?"
"You are coming often to enjoy your handiwork?"
He had made an impulsive gesture.
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