‘I know it’s a liberty,’ said I.
‘It’s infernally awkward: my position is infernally embarrassing,’ said he.
‘Well,’ said I, ‘and what do you think of mine?’
This seemed to pose him entirely, and he remained gazing upon me with a convincing air of youth and innocence. I could have laughed, but I was not so inhumane.
‘I am in your hands,’ said I, with a little gesture. ‘You must do with me what you think right.’
‘Ah, yes!’ he cried: ‘if I knew!’
‘You see,’ said I, ‘it would be different if you had received your commission. Properly speaking, you are not yet a combatant; I have ceased to be one; and I think it arguable that we are just in the position of one ordinary gentleman to another, where friendship usually comes before the law. Observe, I only say arguable. For God’s sake, don’t think I wish to dictate an opinion. These are the sort of nasty little businesses, inseparable from war, which every gentleman must decide for himself. If I were in your place—’
‘Ay, what would you do, then?’ says he.
‘Upon my word, I do not know,’ said I. ‘Hesitate, as you are doing, I believe.’
‘I will tell you,’ he said. ‘I have a kinsman, and it is what he would think, that I am thinking. It is General Graham of Lynedoch—Sir Thomas Graham. I scarcely know him, but I believe I admire him more than I do God.’