Such a point of view might be
understood in the case, say, of a great poet, a great artist, a man of
genius, without any feeling of patriotism, or even a man beyond the age;
but Bruce--he was the most ordinary and average of human beings, the
most commonplace Englishman of thirty-seven who had ever been born; that
Bruce should feel like that did seem to Edith a little--contemptible;
yet she was sorry for him, she knew he really suffered from insomnia and
nerves, though he looked a fine man and had always been regarded as a
fair sportsman. He had been fair at football and cricket, and could row
a bit, and was an enthusiastic golfist; still, Edith knew he would never
have made a soldier. Bruce wanted to be wrapped up in cotton wool,
petted, humoured, looked up to and generally spoilt.
* * * * *
But what Sir Tito felt most was the thought of his favourite, who had
forgiven her husband that escapade three years ago, now appearing in an
unfavourable light. She had been absolutely faithful to Bruce in every
way, under many temptations, and he knew she was still absolutely
faithful. Aylmer and Edith were neither of them the people for secret
meetings, for deception.
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