‘I am not sorry either,’ he said huskily, ‘that is what is so awful. I thought I wanted to go. I thought I wanted to prove, to myself and every one else, that I could fight, and be a fine fellow. I made myself believe it, but it wasn’t true. I know now that I was afraid all the time!’
I went round beside him and kneeled on the floor and I leaned my cheek against his arm. I felt as though he were a child, as though he were much younger than me, and weaker, as I used sometimes to feel with Hugo, when we were children.
I said:
‘Dearest, does that matter? Isn’t every one afraid? It is the people who are afraid and go, that are the bravest; and you tried to go.’
He said:
‘Yes; but I haven’t gone. I don’t suppose now that I shall.’
Eleanor pushed herself against his knees.
She called:
‘Dadda, Dadda,’ and beat him with her brick.
At last he noticed her and picked her up on to his knee.