“Why didn't he stay and face it like a man? Not leave you to face it.”
“Because the only person it greatly concerned was myself. He didn't want to face me. The thing that is driving me almost mad is that he may be killed over there. Not because I love him so much. I think you know how things have been. But because he went to—well, I think to reinstate himself in my esteem, to show me he's a man, after all.”
“Good heavens, Audrey. And you went through dinner with all this to bear!”
“I've got to carry it right along, haven't I? You know how I've been about this war, Clay. I've talked and talked about wondering how our men could stay out of it. So when the smash came, he just said he was going. He would show me there was some good stuff in him still. You see, I've really driven him to it, and if he's killed—”
A surge of resentment against the absent man rose in Clayton Spencer's mind. How like the cynicism of Chris's whole attitude that he should thrust the responsibility for his going onto Audrey. He had made her unhappy while he was with her, and now his death, if it occurred, would be a horror to her.
“I don't know why I burden you with all this,” she said, rather impatiently. “I daresay it is because I knew you'd have the money. No, I don't mean that. I'd rather go to you in trouble than to any one else; that's why.”
“I hope you always will.”
“Oh, I shall! Don't worry.” But her attempt at gayety fell flat. She lighted a cigaret from the stand beside her and fell to studying his face.
“What's happened to you?” she asked. “There's a change in you, somehow. I've noticed it ever since you came home. You ought to be smug and contented, if any man should. But you're not, are you?”
“I'm working hard. That's all. I don't want to talk about myself,” he added impatiently. “What about you? What are you going to do?”