“Don't say that!” he cried. “Don't even think that. And for God's sake, Natalie, send him off with a smile. That's the least we can do.”
“I can't take it as casually as you do.”
He gave up then in despair. He saw that Graham watched her uneasily during the early breakfast, and he surmised that the boy's own grip on his self-control was weakened by the tears that dropped into her coffee-cup. He reflected bitterly that all over the country strong women, good women, were sending their boys away to war, giving them with prayer and exaltation. What was wrong with Natalie? What was wrong with his whole life?
When Graham was up-stairs, he turned to her.
“Why do you persist in going, Natalie?”
“I intend to go. That's enough.”
“Don't you think you've made him unhappy enough?”
“He has made me unhappy enough.”
“You. It is always yourself, Natalie. Why don't you ever think of him?” He went to the door. “Countermand the order for the limousine,” he said to the butler, “and order the small car for Mr. Graham and myself.”
“How dare you do that?”