The meal was almost over, and the
servants had withdrawn.
"I wish you would talk sense to Graham, Clay," she said, fretfully.
"I think he has gone mad."
"I don't call it going mad to want to enlist, father."
"I do. With your father needing you, and with all the men there
are who can go."
"I don't understand. If he wants to enter the army, that's up to
him, isn't it?"
There was a brief silence. Clayton found Natalie's eyes on him,
uneasy, resentful.
"That's just it. I've promised mother not to, unless she gives her
consent. And she won't give it."
"I certainly will not."
Clayton saw her appealing glance at Marion, but that young lady was
lighting a cigaret, her eyelids lowered. He felt as though he were
watching a play, in which he was the audience.
"It's rather a family affair, isn't it?" he asked. "Suppose we wait
until we are alone. After all, there is no hurry."
Marion looked at him, and he caught a resentment in her glance. The
two glances struck fire.
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