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"
A door slammed up-stairs, and Clayton heard Graham coming down. He
passed the library door, however, and Clayton suddenly realized that
he was going out.
"Graham!" he called.
Graham stopped, and came back slowly.
"Yes, father," he said, from the doorway.
"Aren't you coming in?"
"I thought I'd go out for a hit of a spin, if you don't mind.
Evening, Mr. Nolan."
The boy was shaken. Clayton knew it from his tone. All the fine
vigor of the early evening was gone. And an overwhelming rage
filled him, against Natalie, against himself, even against the boy.
Trouble, which should have united his house, had divided it. The
first threat of trouble, indeed.
"You can go out later," he said rather sharply. "We ought to talk
things over, Graham. This is a mighty serious time."
"What's the use of talking things over, father? We don't know
anything but that we may declare war."
"That's enough, isn't it?"
But he was startled when he saw Graham's face. He was very pale
and his eyes already looked furtive.


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