"Graham!" he called.

Graham stopped, and came back slowly.

"Yes, father," he said, from the doorway.

"Aren't you coming in?"

"I thought I'd go out for a hit of a spin, if you don't mind. Evening,
Mr. Nolan."

The boy was shaken. Clayton knew it from his tone. All the fine vigor of
the early evening was gone. And an overwhelming rage filled him, against
Natalie, against himself, even against the boy. Trouble, which should
have united his house, had divided it. The first threat of trouble,
indeed.

"You can go out later," he said rather sharply. "We ought to talk things
over, Graham. This is a mighty serious time."

"What's the use of talking things over, father? We don't know anything
but that we may declare war."

"That's enough, isn't it?"

But he was startled when he saw Graham's face. He was very pale and
his eyes already looked furtive. They were terribly like Natalie's eyes
sometimes. The frankness was gone out of them. He came into the room,
and stood there, rigid.

"I promised mother to get her some sleeping-powders."

"Sleeping-powders!"

"She's nervous."

"Bad things, sleeping-powders," said Nolan. "Get her to take some
setting-up exercises by an open window and she'll sleep like a top."

"Do you mind, if I go, father?"

Clayton saw that it was of no use to urge the boy. Graham wanted to
avoid him, wanted to avoid an interview. The early glow of the evening
faded. Once again the sense of having lost his son almost overwhelmed
him.

"Very well," he said stiffly. And Graham went out.

However, he did not leave the house. At the door he met Doctor
Haverford. And Delight, and Clayton heard the clergyman's big bass
booming through the hall.

"--like a lamb to the slaughter!" he was saying. "And I a man of peace!"

When he came into the library he was still holding forth with an
affectation of rage.

"I ask you, Clayton," he said, "what refuge is there for a man of peace?
My own child, leading me out into the night, and inquiring on the way
over if I did not feel that the commandment not to kill was a serious
error."

"Of course he's going," she said. "He has been making the most
outrageous excuses, just to hear mother and me reply to them. And all
the time nothing would hold him back."

"My dear," said the rector solemnly. "T shall have to tell you
something. I shall have to lay bare the secrets of my heart. How are
you, Nolan? Delight, they will not take me. I have three back tee