He rose and threw away his cigar. He must have the thing out with
Natalie. The boy's soul was more important than his body. He wanted him
safe. God, how he wanted him safe! But he wanted him to be a man.
Natalie's room was dark when he went in. He hesitated. Then he heard her
in bed, sobbing quietly. He was angry at himself for his impatience at
the sound. He stood beside the bed, and forced a gentleness he did not
feel.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked.
"No, thank you." And he moved toward the lamp. "Don't turn the light on.
I look dreadful."
"Shall I ring for Madeleine?"
"No. Graham is bringing me a sleeping-powder."
"If you are not sleepy, may I talk to you about some things?"
"I'm sick, Clay. My head is bursting."
"Sometimes it helps to talk out our worries, dear." He was still
determinedly gentle.
He heard her turning her pillow, and settling herself more comfortably.
"Not to you. You've made up your mind. What's the use?"
"Made up my mind to what?"
"To sending Graham to be killed."
"That's hardly worthy of you, Natalie," he said gravely. "He is my son,
too. I love him at least as much as you do. I don't think this is really
up to us, anyhow. It is up to him. If he wants to go?"
She sat up, suddenly, her voice thin and high.
"How does he know what he wants?" she demanded. "He's too young. He
doesn't know what war is; you say so yourself. You say he is too young
to have a position worth while at the plant, but of course he's old
enough to go to war and have a leg shot off, or to be blinded, or
something." Her voice broke.
He sat down on the bed and felt around until he found her hand. But she
jerked it from him.
"You promised me once to let him make his own decision if the time
came."
"When did I promise that?"
"In the fall, when I came home from England."
"I never made such a promise."
"Will you make it now?"
"No!"
He rose, more nearly despairing than he had ever been. He could not
argue with a hysterical woman. He hated cowardice, but far deeper
than that was his conviction that she had already exacted some sort of
promise. And the boy was not like her in that respect. He regarded a
promise as almost in the nature of an oath. He himself had taught him
that in the creed of a gentleman a promise was a thing of his honor, to
be kept at any cost.