“Honestly, mother, I'd rather go to father and tell him about it. He'd make a row, probably, but at least you'd be out of it.”
She ignored his protest, as she always ignored protests against her own methods of handling matters.
“I'm accustomed to it,” was her sole reply. But her resigned voice brought her, as it always had, the ready tribute of the boy's sympathy. “Sit down, Graham, I want to talk to you.”
He sat down, still uneasily fingering the roll of bills. Just how far Natalie's methods threatened to undermine his character was revealed when, at a sound in Clayton's room, he stuck the money hastily into his pocket.
“Have you noticed a change in your father since he came back?”
Her tone was so ominous that he started.
“He's not sick, is he?”
“Not that. But—he's different. Graham, your father thinks we may be forced into the war.”
“Good for us. It's time, that's sure.”
“Graham!”