There were a dozen guests, and things moved rapidly. Audrey's dinners

were always hilarious. And Audrey herself, Clayton perceived from his

place of vantage, was flirting almost riotously with the man on her

left. She had two high spots of color in her cheeks, and Clayton

fancied--or was that in retrospect, too?--that her gayety was rather

forced. Once he caught her eyes and it seemed to him that she was trying

to convey something to him.

And then, of course, the talk turned to the war, and he caught a flash

of irritation on Natalie's face.

"Ask the oracle," said Audrey's clear voice, "Ask Clay. He knows all

there is to know."

"I didn't hear it, but I suppose it is when the war will end?"

"Amazing perspicacity," some one said.

"I can only give you my own opinion. Ten years if we don't go in.

Possibly four if we do."

There were clamors of dissent.

"None of them can hold out so long."

"If we go in it will end in six months."

"Nonsense! The Allies are victorious now:"

"I only gave an opinion," he protested. "One man's guess is just as

good as another's. All I contend is that it is going on to a finish. The

French and English are not going to stop until they have made the Hun

pay in blood for what he has cost them."

"I wish I were a man," Audrey said' suddenly. "I don't see how any man

with red blood in his veins can sit still, and not take a gun and try

to stop it. Sometimes I think I'll cut off my hair, and go over anyhow.

I've only got one accomplishment. I can shoot. I'd like to sit in a tree

somewhere and pick them off. The butchers!"

There was a roar of laughter, not so much at the words as at the

fierceness with which she delivered them. Clayton, however, felt that

she was in earnest and liked her the better for it. He surmised, indeed,

that under Audrey's affectations there might be something rather fine

if one could get at it. She looked around the table, coolly appraising

every man there.

"Look at us," she said. "Here we sit, over-fed, over-dressed. Only

not over-wined because I can't afford it. And probably--yes, I think

actually--every man at this table is more or less making money out of it

all. There's Clay making a fortune. There's Roddie, making money out of

Clay. Here am I, serving Clayton's cigarets--I don't know why I pick on

you, Clay. The rest are just as bad. You're the most conspicuous, that's

all."




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