"Yes. Father treasured that—and have you seen this?"
They browsed among the books for a little, and Jean, turning to Pamela, said, "I remember the first time you came to see us you did this, too, walked about and looked at the books."
"I remember," said Pamela; "history repeats itself."
Lord Bidborough stopped before a shelf. "This is a catholic selection."
"Those are my favourite books," said Jean—"modern books, I mean."
"I see." He went along the shelf, naming each book as he came to it. "The Long Roll and Cease Firing. Two great books. I should like to read them again now."
"Now one could read them," said Jean. "Through the War I tried to, but I had to stop. The writing was too good—too graphic, somehow…."
"Yes, it would be too poignant…. John Splendid. I read that one autumn in Argyle—slowly—about two chapters a day, making it last as long as I could."
"Isn't it fine?" said Jean. "John Splendid, who never spoke the truth except to an enemy! Do you remember the scene with the blind widow of Glencoe? And John Splendid was so gallant and tactful: 'dim in the sight,' he called her, for he wouldn't say 'blind'; and then was terrified when he heard that plague had been in the house, and would have left without touching the outstretched hand, and Gordon, the harsh-mannered minister, took it and kissed it, and the blind woman cried, 'O Clan Campbell, I'll never call ye down—ye may have the guile they claim for ye, but ye have the way with a woman's heart,' and poor John Splendid went out covered with shame."
Jean's eyes were shining, and she had forgotten to be awkward and tongue-tied.