crucible of war, to come out--God alone knew
how. And not his boy only, but millions of other boys. Yet--better to
break the body than ruin the soul.

"How is mother taking it?"

Natalie's voice came through the door. She was insisting that the house
be kept quiet the next morning. She wanted to sleep late. Clayton caught
the boy's eyes on him, and a half smile on his face.

"Does she know?"

"Yes."

"She isn't taking it very hard, is she?" Then his voice changed. "I
wish you'd talk to her, father. She's--well, she's got me! You see, I
promised her not to go in without her consent."

"When did you do that?"

"The night we broke with Germany in February. I was a fool, but she was
crying, and I didn't know what else to do. And"--there was a ring of
desperation in his voice--"she's holding me to it. I've been to her over
and over again."

"And you want to go?"

"Want to go! I've got to go."

He broke out then into a wild appeal. He wanted to get away. He was
making a mess of all sorts of things. He wasn't any good. He would try
to make good in the army. Maybe it was only the adventure he wanted--he
didn't know. He hadn't gone into that. He hated the Germans. He wanted
one chance at them, anyhow. They were beasts.

Clayton, listening, was amazed at the depth of feeling and anger in his
voice.

"I'll talk to your mother," he agreed, when the boy's passion had spent
itself. "I think she will release you." But he was less certain than he
pretended to be. He remembered Natalie's drooping eyelids that night
at dinner. She might absolve him from the promise, but there were other
ways of holding him back than promises.

"Perhaps we would better go into the situation thoroughly," he
suggested. "I have rather understood, lately, that you--what about
Marion Hayden, Graham?"

"I'm engaged to her."

There was rather a long pause. Clayton's face was expressionless.

"Since when?"

"Last fall, sir."

"Does your mother know?"

"I told her, yes." He looked up quickly. "I didn't tell you. I knew you
disliked her, and mother said?" He checked himself. "Marion wanted to
wait. She wanted to be welcome when she came into the family."

"I don't so much dislike her as I--disapprove of her."

"That's rather worse, isn't it?"

Clayton was tired. His very spirit was tired. He sat down in his big
chair by the fire.

"She is older than you are, you know."

"I don't see what that has to do with it, father."

In Clayt