He had been
playing a game, an attractive game. During the first months of it
his interest in Natalie had been subordinate to his interest in her
house. He had been creating a beautiful thing, and he had had a
very real joy in it. But lately he knew that his work on the house
had been that he might build a background for Natalie. He had put
into it the best of his ability, and she was not worth it.
For some days he neither wrote nor called her up. He was not happy,
but he had a sense of relief. He held his head a trifle higher,
was his own man again, and he began to make tentative inquiries as
to whether he could be useful in the national emergency or not. He
was half-hearted at first, but he found out something. The mere
fact that he wanted to work in some capacity brought back some of
his old friends. They had seemed to drop away, before, but they
came back heartily and with hands out.
"Work?" said Terry Mackenzie, at the club one day, looking up from
the billiard table, where he was knocking balls about, rather at
haphazard.
Pages:
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598