“Would you wish me to change my mind, Philip?” said David laying his arm over his friend’s shoulder, in a way that would have satisfied Violet of his interest and affection.
“I don’t know. I am not sure. I don’t understand it.”
“Yes, you do, Philip—or you will sometime. I mean, you will understand why this should be the best thing for me to do. You cannot quite understand all I feel about it, because you never knew my father.”
“Tell me about him,” said Philip.
“It is not what I could tell you that would make you understand. But—we speak about aspirations and ambitions, Philip; but if I had my choice what I should do, or what I should be, I should choose the life, and work, and character of my father.”
David’s voice faltered.
“Since when has that been your choice?” asked Philip.
“Always! I mean, always since he died. And, before that, he was my ideal of wisdom and goodness, though I did not particularly wish or try to be like him then?”
“And it was his wish that you should choose his profession, and live his life, and do his work?”
“He wished it,—yes. And now I wish it, not merely because of his wish, but because—I love my Lord and Master, and because I wish to honour Him as His soldier and servant—”