And Audrey gave him an answer.
"You've got to think of the mill, Clay," she said. "The Dunbar man
is right. And all you or any other father of a boy can do is to
pray in season, and to trust to Graham's early training."
And all the repressed bitterness in Clayton Spencer's heart was in
his answer.
"He never had any early training, Audrey. Oh, he had certain things.
His manners, for instance. But other things? I ought not to say
that. It was my fault, too. I'm not blaming only Natalie. Only
now, when it is all we have to count on - "
He was full of remorse when he started for home. He felt guilty of
every disloyalty. And in masculine fashion he tried to make up to
Natalie for the truth that had been wrung from him. He carried
home a great bunch of roses for her. But he carried home, too, a
feeling of comfort and vague happiness, as though the little room
behind him still reached out and held him in its warm embrace.
CHAPTER XXII
In the evening of the thirty-first of January Clayton and Graham
were waiting for Natalie to come down to dinner when the bell rang,
and Dunbar was announced.
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