And, tragic as the subject was, they both laughed.
“I'd have died if I hadn't had you to think about when I was sick, Graham. I wanted to die—except for you.”
He had kissed her then, rather because he knew she expected him to. When they got back to the house she said:
“You wouldn't care to come up?”
“I don't think I had better, Anna.”
“The landlady doesn't object. There isn't any parlor. All the girls have their callers in their rooms.”
“I have to go out to-night,” he said evasively. “I'll come some other time.”
As he started away he glanced back at her. She was standing in the doorway, eying him wistfully, a lonely and depressed little figure. He was tempted to throw discretion to the wind and go back. But he did not.
On the day when Clayton had broached the subject of offering their output to the government at only a banker's profit, Anna called him up at his new office in the munition plant.
He was rather annoyed. His new secretary was sitting across the desk, and it was difficult to make his responses noncommittal.