He wrote the date and
“H.M.S. ‘Pathshire.’
“China Station,
“At Wei-hai-wei.
“Dear Mother,—”
(Then he paused. Usually he wrote “Darling Mother,” but after consideration he decided not to change what he had written.)
“I have just had your letter telling me of your work, and your holiday, and your talks with Mr. Alter. It was such a plain, interesting letter full of news that I hate myself for writing any other kind.”
(That was a poor sentence—but let it stand.)
“But I don’t honestly think it would be fair either to you or to myself to postpone writing about what I have to say this evening. The facts are plainly these, and I suppose I may as well come to the point at once.”
(It was time to turn a page, and John saw his mother’s face as she turned it.)
“I am writing to ask you if I may take the very serious step of leaving the Service. My reasons for asking this are chiefly these: I am not keen on the Navy. I don’t want to succeed in it—that is to say, the prospect of becoming an admiral doesn’t attract me. If I became an admiral I shouldn’t be very glad or very happy. If I won a Trafalgar I shouldn’t be very proud. And I think the sooner one leaves a profession one doesn’t want to rise in, the better.