e
thing. To throw away a life's happiness for a spoiled, petulant woman
was another. It was too high a price to pay. Mingled with her depression
was pity for Clayton; for all the years that he had lived with this
woman: and pride in him, that he had never betrayed his disillusion.

After a time she saw the car waiting, and she went slowly back to the
house. Natalie was already inside, and she made no apologies whatever.
The drive back was difficult. Natalie openly sulked, replied in
monosyllables, made no effort herself until they were in the city again.
Then she said, "I'm sorry I asked you to speak to Clay. Of course you
needn't do it."

"Not if it is to do what you said. But I wish you wouldn't misunderstand
me, Natalie. I'm awfully sorry. We just think differently."

"We certainly do," said Natalie briefly. And that was her good-by.

CHAPTER XXXVII

When Clayton had returned from Washington, one of the first problems put
up to him had been Herman Klein's application to be taken on again. He
found Hutchinson in favor of it.

"He doesn't say much," he said. "Never did. But I gather things are
changed, now we are in the war ourselves."

"I suppose we need him."

"You bet we need him."

For the problem of skilled labor was already a grave one.

Clayton was doubtful. If he could have conferred with Dunbar he would
have felt more comfortable, but Dunbar was away on some mysterious
errand connected with the Military Intelligence Department. He sat
considering, tapping on his desk with the handle of his pen. Of course
things were different now. A good many Germans whose sympathies had,
as between the Fatherland and the Allies, been with Germany, were now
driven to a decision between the land they had left and the land they
had adopted. And behind Herman there were thirty years of good record.

"Where is the daughter?"

"I don't know. She left some weeks ago. It's talk around the plant that
he beat her up, and she got out. Those Germans don't know the first
thing about how to treat women."

"Then she is not in Weaver's office?"

There was more talk in the offices than Hutchinson repeated. Graham's
fondness for Anna, her slavish devotion to him, had been pretty well
recognized. He wondered if Clayton knew anything about it, or the
further gossip that Graham knew where Anna Klein had been hiding.

"What about Rudolph Klein? He was a nephew, wasn't he?"

"Fired," said Hutchinson laconically. "Got to sp