I want to consult you. That's
all. May I come?"

There was a second's pause. Then,

"Don't you think I'd better come to see you?"

"I've only a little flat. I don't think you'll like it."

"That's nonsense. Where is it?"

She gave him the address.

"When shall I come?"

"Whenever it suits you. I have nothing to do. Say this afternoon about
four."

That "nothing to do" was an odd change, in itself, for Audrey had been
in the habit of doling out her time like sweetmeats.

"Where in the world have you been all this time?" he demanded, almost
angrily. To his own surprise he was suddenly conscious of a sense of
indignation and affront. She had said she depended on him, and then she
had gone away and hidden herself. It was ridiculous.

"Just getting acquainted with myself," she replied, with something of
her old airy manner. "Good-by."

His irritation passed as quickly as it came. He felt calm and very sure
of himself, and rather light-hearted. Joey, who was by now installed
as an office adjunct, and who commonly referred to the mill as "ours,"
heard him whistling blithely and cocked an ear in the direction of the
inner room.

"Guess we've made another million dollars," he observed to the
pencil-sharpener.

Clayton was not in the habit of paying afternoon calls on women. The
number of such calls that he had paid without Natalie during his married
life could have been numbered on the fingers of his two hands. Most of
the men he knew paid such visits, dropping in somewhere for tea or a
highball on the way uptown. He had preferred his club, when he had a
little time, the society of other men.

He wondered if he should call Natalie and tell her. But he decided
against it. It was possible, for one thing, that Audrey still did not
wish her presence in town known. If she did, she would tell Natalie
herself. And it was possible, too, that she wanted to discuss Chris, and
the reason for his going.

He felt a real sense of relief, when at last he saw her, to find her
looking much the same as ever. He hardly knew what he had expected.
Audrey, having warned him as to the apartment, did not mention its
poverty again. It was a tiny little place, but it had an open fire in
the living-room, and plain, pale-yellow walls, and she had given it that
curious air of distinction with which she managed, in her casual way, to
invest everything about her.

"I hope you observe how neat I am," she said, as she gave him her hand.
"