“Mind you, Rose, I think the Army would be a very good thing for Cecil, at least in some respects.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because it would give him a chance of feeling that he was really doing a fine thing. I think Cecil has been very much absorbed in imaginary achievements.”
“I know he has.”
“Well, I’ve an idea that he wouldn’t depend on his—fancies—nearly so much if his need of cutting a figure, so to speak, could be gratified in real flesh and blood terms. You see, he’s not good at games, he’s never been particularly clever, he hasn’t even got the personality that would enable him to stand out from the crowd. But that’s what he wants, all the time. That’s what he’s looking for—a chance to distinguish himself.”
“Aren’t we all looking for that, more or less?” Her tone was rather defiant, and she had coloured deeply.
“I suppose we are. Only with Cecil, the instinct has always been out of all proportion.”
“He’s much better than he used to be.”
“I’m glad.”
“You don’t believe it!” she cried swiftly.