"
The discussion ended in laughter, and the talk turned to lighter matters;
but, as Mary Arkroyd drove Cynthia home across the heath, her thoughts
returned to it. The two men, the two soldiers, seemed to have given an
authentic account of what their experience had done to them. Both, as she
saw the case, had been moved to pity, horror, and indignation that such
things should be done, or should have to be done, in the world. After
that point came the divergence. The higher nature had been raised, the
lower debased; Alec Naylor's sympathies had been sharpened and
sensitized; Beaumaroy's blunted. Where the one had found ideals and
incentives, the other found despair--a despair that issued in excuses and
denied high standards. And the finer mind belonged to the finer soldier;
that she knew, for Gertie had told her General Punnit's story, and,
however much she might discount it as the tale of an elderly martinet,
yet it stood for something, for something that could never be attributed
to Alec Naylor.
And yet, for her mind traveled back to her earlier talk by the tennis
court, Beaumaroy had a conscience, had feelings.
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