car soothed him. The street flashed by,
brilliant with lights that in far perspective seemed to meet. The shop
windows gleamed with color. From curb to curb were other cars like the
one in which he rode, carrying home other men like himself to whatever
the evening held in store. He remembered London at this hour, already
dark and quiet, its few motors making their cautious way in the dusk,
its throngs of clerks, nearly all women now, hurrying home to whatever
dread the night might hold. And it made him slightly more complacent.
These things that he had taken for granted before had since his return
assumed the quality of luxury.

"Pray God we won't get into it," he said to himself.

He reviewed his unrest of the night before, and smiled at it. Happiness.
Happiness came from a sense of achievement. Integrity and power, that
was the combination. The respect of one's fellow men, the day's
work well done. Romance was done, at his age, but there remained the
adventure of success. A few years more, and he would leave the mill to
Graham and play awhile. After that--he had always liked politics. They
needed business men in politics. If men of training and leisure
would only go in for it there would be some chance of cleaning up the
situation. Yes, he might do that. He was an easy speaker, and--

The car drew up at the curb and the chauffeur got out. Natalie's car
had drawn up just ahead, and the footman was already opening the door.
Rodney Page got out, and assisted Natalie to alight. Clayton smiled. So
she had changed her mind. He saw Rodney bend over her hand and kiss it
after his usual ceremonious manner. Natalie seemed a trifle breathless
when she turned and saw him.

"You're early, aren't you?" she said.

"I fancy it is you who are late."

Then he realized that the chauffeur was waiting to speak to him.

"Yes, Jackson?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I guess I'll be leaving at the end of my month, Mr.
Spencer."

"Come into the library and I'll talk to you. What's wrong?"

"There's nothing wrong, sir. I have been very well suited. It's only--I
used to be in the regular army, sir, and I guess I'm going to be needed
again."

"You mean--we are going to be involved?"

"Yes, sir. I think we are."

"There's no answer to that, Jackson," he said. But a sense of irritation
stirred him as he went up the steps to the house door. Jackson was a
good man. Jackson and Klein, and who knew who would be next?

"Oh, damn the war," he refl