The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [4909]
Clayton, standing glass in hand, surveyed the scene with a mixture of satisfaction and impatience. He found Terry Mackenzie at his elbow.
"Great party, Clay," he said. "Well, here's to 1917, and may it bring luck."
"May it bring peace," said Clayton, and raised his glass.
Some time later going home in the car with Mrs. Mackenzie, quiet and slightly grim beside him, Terry spoke out of a thoughtful silence.
"There's something wrong with Clay," he said. "If ever a fellow had a right to be happy - he has a queer look. Have you noticed it?"
"Anybody married to Natalie Spencer would develop what you call a queer look," she replied, tartly.
"Don't you think he is in love with her?"
"If you ask me, I think he has reached the point where he can't bear the sight of her. But he doesn't know it."
"She's pretty."
"So is a lamp-shade," replied Mrs. Terry, acidly. "Or a kitten, or a fancy ice-cream. But you wouldn't care to be married to them, would you?"
It was almost dawn when Natalie came in. Clayton had not been asleep. He had got to thinking rather feverishly of the New-year. Without in any way making a resolution, he had determined to make it a better year than the last; to be more gentle with Natalie, more understanding with Graham; to use his new prosperity wisely; to forget his own lack of happiness in making others happy. He was very vague about that. The search of the ages the rector had called happiness, and one found it by giving it.
To his surprise, Natalie came into his bedroom, looking like some queer oriental bird, vivid and strangely unlike herself.
"I saw your light. Heavens, what a party!"
"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I hope you didn't mind my not going on."
"I wish you had. Clay, you'll never guess what happened."
"Probably not. What?"
"Well, Audrey just made it, that's all. Funny! I wish you'd seen some of their faces. Of course she was disgraceful, but she took it off right away. But it was like her - no one else would have dared."
His mouth felt dry. Audrey - disgraceful!
"It was in the stable, you know, I told you. And just at midnight the doors opened and a big white horse leaped in with Audrey on his back. No saddle - nothing. She was dressed like a bare-back rider in the circus, short tulle skirts and tights. They nearly mobbed her with joy." She yawned. "Well, I'm off to bed."
He roused himself.
"A happy New-year, my dear."
"Thanks," she said, and wandered out, her absurd feathered tail trailing behind her.
He lay back and closed his eyes. So Audrey had done that, Audrey, who had been in his mind all those sleepless hours; for he knew now that back of all his resolutions to do better had been the thought of her.
He felt disappointed and bitter. The sad disillusion of the middle years, still heroically clinging to faiths that one after another destroyed themselves, was his.
CHAPTER XVIII
Audrey was frightened. She did not care a penny's worth what her little world thought. Indeed, she knew that she had given it a new thrill and so had won its enthusiastic approval. She was afraid of what Clayton would think.
She was absurdly quiet and virtuous all the next day, gathered out her stockings and mended them; began a personal expenditure account for the New-year, heading it carefully with "darning silk, 50 cents"; wrote a long letter to Chris, and - listened for the telephone. If only he would call her, so she could explain. Still, what could she explain? She had done it. It was water over the dam - and it is no fault of Audrey's that she would probably have spelled it "damn."
By noon she was fairly abject. She did not analyze her own anxiety, or why the recollection of her escapade, which would a short time before have filled her with a sort of unholy joy, now turned her sick and trembling.
Then, in the middle of the afternoon, Clay called her up. She gasped a little when she heard his voice.
"I wanted to tell you, Audrey," he said, "that we can probably use the girl you spoke about, rather soon."
"Very well. Thank you. Is - wasn't there something else,