(Alec Naylor nodded his
handsome head in grave approval; his father looked a little discontented,
as though he were swallowing unpalatable, though wholesome, food). His
whole idea--Beaumaroy's, that is--was to shield offenders, to prevent
the punishment fitting the crime, even to console and countenance the
wrongdoer. No sense of discipline, no moral sense, the Colonel had gone
as far as that. Impossible to promote or to recommend for reward, almost
impossible to keep. Of course, if he had been caught young and put
through the mill, it might have been different. "It _might_" the Colonel
heavily underlined the possibility, but he came from Heaven knew where,
after a life spent Heaven knew how. "And he seemed to know it himself,"
the Colonel had said, thoughtfully rolling his port round in the glass.
"Whenever I wigged him, he offered to go; said he'd chuck his commission
and enlist; said he'd be happier in the ranks. But I was weak, I couldn't
bear to do it." After thus quoting his friend, the General added: "He was
weak, damned weak, and I told him so."
"Of course he ought to have got rid of him," said Alec.
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