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And a certain sure percentage of them would never come back.
His arm tightened about the boy. When he withdrew it Graham
straightened.
"If it's war, it's my war, father."
And Clayton replied, quietly:
"It is your war, old man."
Dunbar turned his back and inspected Natalie's portrait. When he
faced about again Graham was lighting a cigaret, and Natalie herself
was entering the room. In her rose-colored satin she looked exotic,
beautiful, and Dunbar gave her a fleeting glance of admiration as
he bowed. She looked too young to have a boy going to war. Behind
her he suddenly saw other women, thousands of other women, living
luxurious lives, sheltered and pampered, and suddenly called on to
face sacrifice without any training for it.
"Didn't know you were going out," he said. "Sorry. I'll run along
now."
"We are dining at home," said Natalie, coldly. She remained
standing near the door, as a hint to the shabby gentleman with the
alert eyes who stood by the table.


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