"
"And broken my heart."
"Hearts don't break that way, mother."
"Well, you say you are going now. I should think you'd be
satisfied. There's plenty of time for you to get the glory you
want."
"Glory! I don't want any glory. And as for plenty of time - that's
exactly what there isn't."
During the next few days she preserved an obstinate silence on the
subject. She knew he had been admitted to one of the officers'
training-camps, and that he was making rather helpless and puzzled
purchases. Going into his room she would find a dressing-case of
khaki leather, perhaps, or flannel shirts of the same indeterminate
hue. She would shed futile tears over them, and order them put out
of sight. But she never offered to assist him.
Graham was older, in many ways. He no longer ran up and down the
stairs whistling, and he sought every opportunity to be with his
father. They spent long hours together in the library, when, after
a crowded day, filled with the thousand, problems of reconstructions,
Clayton smoked a great deal, talked a little, rather shame-facedly
after the manner of men, of personal responsibility in the war, and
quietly watched the man who was Graham.
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