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"You're getting cross, Quinny!..." "No, I'm not!" "Oh, yes, you are ... very cross ... and you know what the fine for it is. If you want my opinion, here it is. I am prepared to accept eugenics and blue-books as a substitute for the love of women ... if they're interesting, of course. That's all I ask of any one or anything ... that it shall interest me.
You know as well as I do, Quinny, that the English aren't unfriendly to the Irish, that they really are anxious to do the decent thing by Ireland. It isn't us: it's you. We're not against you ... you're against yourselves. There are about seventy-five different parties in Ireland, aren't there, and they all hate each other like poison?" "I wonder if John Marsh was hurt!..." "I don't suppose so.
"Well, Quinny!" said Gilbert, when Ninian had gone. "Well, Gilbert!" Henry replied. "How's Ireland? Still making an ass of itself?" Henry made no answer to Gilbert's question because he knew that an answer was not expected.
"Good-night, Quinny!" He turned quickly to take Mary's hand. "We're going back to Devonshire the day after to-morrow," she said. "Are you?" he murmured vaguely. "Yes. Good-night, Quinny!" "Aren't you tired?" he asked. "Oh, no," she answered. "I've enjoyed myself awfully much. Here's Ninian! He's taking us back to our hotel. Good-night, Quinny!" He hesitated for a moment or two.
"Quinny," it began, for Gilbert had abandoned "dears" because, he said, he sometimes had to write to people who were detestable: "Quinny: How soon can you get quit of that barrack in Dublin where your misguided father thinks you are being taught to be Irish? Cast your eyes on the address at the head of this notepaper. It is a noble house that Roger and I have discovered.
"You've changed a lot, Quinny, since the days when you pleaded for infinite variety. You wanted a wife for every mood!..." Henry laughed. "We did talk a lot of rot when we first went to London," he said, putting his arm in Gilbert's. "It wasn't all rot. My contributions to the discussion were very sensible. I wonder what's the excitement up there! The papers are in!..."
"Righto, Ninian!" said Gilbert. "Mary was saying what a long time it was since you were there, Quinny," Ninian went on. "Did she?" Henry answered. "Yes. I hope you'll go down sometime." "I will," he said. Mrs. Graham invited Gilbert and Henry to spend Christmas at Boveyhayne, and they gladly accepted her invitation, but a week before they were due to go to Devonshire, Mr.
I'm continually seeing the War ... me in it, crouching in a trench waiting for the order to go over, and trembling with fright ... so frightened that I can't do anything but get killed ... and it's worse when I think of myself killing other people ... I feel sick at the thought of thrusting a bayonet into a man's body ... squelching through his flesh ... My God!..." "Yes, I know, Quinny!"
Simply the interpretation of comradeship, the emotion one man feels for another, vital because it is the one peculiarly masculine emotion. Look at Du Maurier and Trilby, Kipling in Soldiers Three simply the Three Musketeers." "The Vie de Bohème?" suggested Steingall. "In the real Vie de Bohème, yes," said Quinny viciously.
"Will you tell her, Quinny," Mary said, and she slackened her pace slightly and dropped behind him. He turned to look for her. "Come with me," he said. "I can't tell her ... alone!" There was a chilly fear over both of them. They felt that this blow would strike her down, that she would not survive it. Ninian was the beginning and the end of her life. If Ninian were gone, everything was gone.
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