He had said, indeed, that he believed he was brave in some respects, and had asserted that he knew of one exceptional act of courage that he had performed; but what was that if a man had had to leave the army because he was a coward?
To Isobel it seemed that of all things it was most dreadful that a man should be wanting in courage.
Tales of daring and bravery had always been her special delight, and, being full of life and spirit herself, it had not seemed even possible to her that a gentleman could be a coward, and that Bathurst could be so was to her well nigh incredible.
It might, as the Doctor had urged, be in no way his fault, but this did not affect the fact.

He might be more to be pitied than to be blamed; but pity of that kind, so far from being akin to love, was destructive of it.
Unconsciously she had raised Bathurst on a lofty pinnacle.

The Doctor had spoken very highly of him.

She had admired the energy with which, instead of caring, as others did, for pleasure, he devoted himself to his work.

Older men than himself listened to his opinions.