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They sat long at the table, rather as though they clung together.
And Nolan insisted on figuring the cost of war in money.
"Queer thing," he said. "In ancient times the cost of war fell
almost entirely on the poor. But it's the rich who will pay for
this war. All taxation is directed primarily against the rich."
"The poor pay in blood," said Audrey, rather sharply. "They give
their lives, and that is all they have."
"Rich and poor are going to do that, now," old Terry broke in.
"Fight against it all you like, you members of the privileged class,
the draft is coming. This is every man's war."
But Clayton Spencer was watching Natalie. She had paled and was
fingering her liqueur-glass absently. Behind her lowered eyelids he
surmised that again she was planning. But what? Then it came to
him, like a flash. Old Terry had said the draft would exempt married
men. She meant to marry Graham to a girl she detested, to save him
from danger.
Through it all, however, and in spite of his anger and apprehension,
he was sorry for her.


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