He made his decision then; to force her to release the boy from any
promise; to allow him his own choice. But he felt with increasing
anxiety that some of Natalie's weakness of character had descended to
Graham, that in him, as in Natalie, perhaps obstinacy was what he hoped
was strength. He wondered listening to her, what it would be to have
beside him that night some strong and quiet woman, to whom he could
carry his problems, his perplexities. Some one to sit, hand in his, and
set him right as such a woman could, on many things.
And for a moment, he pictured Audrey. Audrey, his wife, driving with him
in their car, to whatever the evening might hold. And after it was
all over, going back with her, away from all the chatter that meant so
little, to the home that shut them in together.
He was very gentle to Natalie that night.
Natalie had been right. It was a small and informal group, gathered
together hastily to discuss the emergency; only Denis Nolan, the
Mackenzies, Clayton and Natalie, and Audrey.
"We brought her out of her shell," said Terry, genially, "because the
country is going to make history to-night. The sort of history Audrey
has been shouting for for months."
The little party was very grave. Yet, of them all, only the Spencers
would be directly affected. The Mackenzies had no children.
"Button, my secretary," Terry announced, "is in Washington. He is to
call me here when the message is finished."
"Isn't it possible," said Natalie, recalling a headline from the evening
paper, "that the House may cause an indefinite delay?"
And, as usual, Clayton wondered at the adroitness with which, in the
talk that followed, she escaped detection.
They sat long at the table, rather as though they clung together. And
Nolan insisted on figuring the cost of war in money.
"Queer thing," he said. "In ancient times the cost of war fell almost
entirely on the poor. But it's the rich who will pay for this war. All
taxation is directed primarily against the rich."
"The poor pay in blood," said Audrey, rather sharply. "They give their
lives, and that is all they have."
"Rich and poor are going to do that, now," old Terry broke in. "Fight
against it all you like, you members of the privileged class, the draft
is coming. This is every man's war."
But Clayton Spencer was watching Natalie. She had paled and was
fingering her liqueur-glass absently. Behind her lowered eyelids he
surmised that again she was planning. But what? Then it came to him,
like a flash. Old Terry had said the draft would exempt married men. She
meant to marry Graham to a girl she detested, to save him from danger.