"It's Delight," explained Mrs. Haverford. "She's driving me round. She
won't come in, and she's forgotten her fur coat. And it's simply bitter
outside. Well, my dear, how are you?"

Natalie was well, and said so. She was conscious that Mrs. Haverford
was listening with only half an ear, and indeed, a moment later she had
risen again and hurried to the window.

"Natalie!" she cried. "Do come and watch. She's turning the car. We do
think she drives wonderfully. Only a few days, too."

"Why won't she come in?"

"I'm sure I don't know. Unless she is afraid Graham may be here."

"What in the world has Graham got to do with it?" Natalie's voice was
faintly scornful.

"I was going to ask you that, Natalie. Have they quarreled, or
anything?"

"I don't think they meet at all, do they?"

"They met once since Clayton gave Doctor Haverford the car. Graham
helped her when she had got into a ditch, I believe. And I thought
perhaps they had quarreled about something."

"That would imply a degree of intimacy that hardly exists, does it?"
Natalie said, sharply.

But Mrs. Haverford had not fought the verbal battles of the parish for
twenty years in vain.

"It was the day of that unfortunate incident at the country club,
Natalie."