His words, his looks, revived her spirit of romance, gave her the very landscapes, and new ones.

Yes, he was her hero.

But his manner made him also an adored big brother, stamped splendid by the perils of life.

He sat square, as if alert to rise, with an elbow on a knee, and the readiest turn of head to speakers, the promptest of answers, eyes that were a brighter accent to the mouth, so vividly did look accompany tone.

He rallied her, chatted and laughed; pleased the ladies by laughing at Colney Durance, and inspired her with happiness when he spoke of England:--that 'One has to be in exile awhile, to see the place she takes.' 'Oh, Captain Dartrey, I do like to hear you say so,' she cried; his voice was reassuring also in other directions: it rang of true man.
He volunteered, however, a sad admission, that England had certainly lost something of the great nation's proper conception of Force: the meaning of it, virtue of it, and need for it.