That isn't a loverish fancy--you only have to look at him against Alan or Uncle Stanley or even Dad.
Everything he does is so different; the way he walks, and the way he stands drawn back into himself, like a stag, and looks out as if he were burning and smouldering inside; even the way he smiles.

Dad asked me what I thought of him! That was only the second day.

I thought he was too proud, then.

And Dad said: 'He ought to be in a Highland regiment; pity--great pity!' He is a fighter, of course.

I don't like fighting, but if I'm not ready to, he'll stop loving me, perhaps.