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"Not at all," Terry had said. And chuckled. "This war, if it comes,
is every man's burden, rich and poor. Only the rich will give most,
because they have most to give."
"I think that's ridiculous," Natalie had said.
It was after that that Clayton began to wonder what she was planning.
He came home late one afternoon to find that they were spending the
evening in, and to find a very serious Natalie waiting, when he came
down-stairs dressed for dinner. She made an effort to be
conversational, but it was a failure. He was uneasily aware that
she was watching him, inspecting, calculating, choosing her moment.
But it was not until they were having coffee that she spoke.
"I'm uneasy about Graham, Clay."
He looked up quickly.
"Yes?"
"I think he ought to go away somewhere."
"He ought to stay here, and make a man of himself," he came out,
almost in spite of himself. He knew well enough that such a note
always roused Natalie's antagonism, and he waited for the storm.


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