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."