For a sickening moment, Audrey thought of Chris. War had made Chris, but
it had killed him, too.
"Have you thought of one thing?" she asked. "That in trying to make this
young man, whoever it is, he may be hurt, or even worse?"
"He would have to take his chance, like the rest."
She went a little pale, however. Audrey impulsively put an arm around
her.
"And this--woman is the little long-legged girl who used to give signals
to her father when the sermon was too long! Now--what can I do about
this youth who can't make up his own mind?"
"You can talk to his mother."
"If I know his mother--? and I think I do--it won't do the slightest
good."
"Then his father. You are great friends, aren't you?"
Even this indirect mention of Clayton made Audrey's hands tremble. She
put them behind her.
"We are very good friends," she said. But Delight was too engrossed to
notice the deeper note in her voice. "I'll see what I can do. But don't
count on me too much. You spoke of a girl. I suppose I know who it is."
"Probably. It is Marion Hayden. He is engaged to her."
And again Audrey marveled at her poise, for Delight's little tragedy was
clear by that time. Clear, and very sad.
"I can't imagine his really being in love with her."
"But he must be. They are engaged."
Audrey smiled at the simple philosophy of nineteen, smiled and was
extremely touched. How brave the child was! Audrey's own courageous
heart rather swelled in admiration.
But after Delight had gone, she felt depressed again, and very tired.
How badly these things were handled! How strange it was that love so
often brought suffering! Great loves were almost always great tragedies.
Perhaps it was because love was never truly great until the element of
sacrifice entered into it.
Her own high courage failed her somewhat. During these recent days when,
struggling against very real stage fright, she made her husky, wholly
earnest but rather nervous little appeals to the crowds before the
enlisting stations, she got along bravely enough during the day. But the
night found her sad, unutterably depressed.
At these times she was haunted by a fear that persisted against all her
arguments. In Washington Clayton had not looked well. He had been
very tired and white, and some of his natural buoyancy seemed to have
deserted him. He needed caring for, she would reflect bitterly. There
should be some one to look after him. He was tired and anxious, but it
took the eyes of love to see it. Natalie would never notice, and would
consider it a grievance if she did. The fiercely, maternal tenderness
of the childless woman for the man she loves kept her awake at night
staring into the darkness and visualizing terrible things. Clayton ill,
and she unable to go to him. Ill, and wanting her, and unable to ask for
her.