I have borne a great
deal alone in my life, and I can bear this."
She turned, and went with considerable dignity out of the door.
"Natalie!" he called. But he heard her with a gentle rustle of
silks going up the staircase. It did not add to his comfort that
she had left him to order the car.
All through the night Rodney rode and thought. He was angry at
Natalie, but he was angrier at himself. He felt that he had been
brutal, unnecessarily callous. After all, her only son was on his
way to war. It was on the cards that he might not come back. And
he had let his uneasiness dominate his sympathy. He had lost her,
but then he had never had her. He never could have her.
Half way to town, on a back road, the car broke down, and after
vainly endeavoring to start it the chauffeur set off on foot to
secure help. Rodney slept, uncomfortably, and wakened with the
movement of the machine to find it broad day. That was awkward, for
Natalie's car was conspicuous, marked too with her initials.
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