Natalie evidently felt that the situation required saving.

"I'm sure we all send money over," she protested. "To the Belgians and

all that. And if they want things we have to sell--"

"Oh, yes, I know all that," Audrey broke in, rather wearily. "I know.

We're the saviors of the Belgians, and we've given a lot of money and

shiploads of clothes. But we're not stopping the war. And it's got to be

stopped!"

Clayton watched her. Somehow what she had just said seemed to

crystallize much that he had been feeling. The damnable butchery ought

to be stopped.

"Right, Audrey," he supported her. "I'd give up every prospect I have if

the thing could be ended now."

He meant it then. He might not have meant it, entirely, to-morrow or

the day after. But he meant it then. He glanced down the table, to find

Natalie looking at him with cynical amusement.

The talk veered then, but still focused on the war. It became abstract

as was so much of the war talk in America in 1916. Were we, after this

war was over, to continue to use the inventions of science to destroy

mankind, or for its welfare? Would we ever again, in wars to come, go

back to the comparative humanity of the Hague convention? Were such

wickednesses as the use of poison gas, the spreading of disease germs

and the killing of non-combatants, all German precedents, to inaugurate

a new era of cruelty in warfare.

Was this the last war? Would there ever be a last war? Would there not

always be outlaw nations, as there are outlaw individuals? Would there

ever be a league of nations to enforce peace?

From that to Christianity. It had failed. On the contrary, there was a

great revival of religious faith. Creeds, no. Belief, yes. Too many men

were dying to permit the growth of any skepticism as to a future life.

We must have it or go mad.

In the midst of that discussion Audrey rose. Her color had faded, and

her smile was gone.

"I won't listen any longer," she said. "I'm ready to talk about

fighting, but not about dying."

Clayton was conscious that he had had, in spite of Audrey's speech about

the wine, rather more to drink than he should have. He was not at all

drunk, but a certain excitement had taken the curb off his tongue. After

the departure of the women he found himself, rather to his own surprise,

delivering a harangue on the Germans.




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