"Not always," replied Edgar, very promptly. "It's a complex question. But why do I—why does anybody else do the same?—help willingly those I like—those who are young and attractive, or those who move my affection? Why don't I help those I dislike? Why do I feel, at any rate, extremely unwilling to help those I dislike?"
"Because it would be morbid self-mortification to help anybody you dislike."
"No, no. I'm thinking of a state of mind. If I can help somebody I like, it's a perfectly instinctive thing. But just remember how many objections and difficulties rush to your mind when you're asked to help somebody who is disagreeable to you."
Gaythorpe answered shrewdly enough:
"You're thinking of somebody in particular?"
Edgar started.
"In both instances," he agreed. "No, in one only."
Gaythorpe gave a snort of pretended annoyance. His keen old face was benevolent.
"That's the worst of these damned generalisations," he cried. "One sees them exploded each instant. You see fifty people abroad, and you put their views into a general statement of the actual position of millions. You come back. You find, perhaps, a letter—two letters——"