“Well, yes, naturally,” said Lalanté, with a laugh, and wondering whether he was serious.
“Naturally, but illogically. That blind, instinctive shrinking from risk which we call cowardice is constitutional, and its subject can no more help it than he could have helped being born with a club foot, for instance.”
“You do put things well,” said Lalanté. “All the same you’ll never persuade the world in general that a coward is anything but a pitiable object.”
“If by that you mean deserving of pity, why then I agree with you—if of contempt, then I don’t. I’ll tell you another who doesn’t.”
“Who’s that?”
“Wyvern.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen him give practical proof of it.”
The girl’s face softened and her eyes filled.
“Him? Oh, he’s goodness itself,” she murmured. “He hasn’t a fault, except that of being unfortunate.”