‘But that is absurd,’ I said. ‘Surely he didn’t mind?’
‘He did mind,’ said Walter.
He kept his eyes to the ground; he was tearing up the grass into
little tufts and throwing it away.
‘I don’t suppose I should be any use even if I wasn’t married,’
he said. ‘I don’t suppose they would pass me at the Medical Board,
but I hate to stay behind! It makes me ashamed of myself, and
I am not used to feeling ashamed.’
I tried to think clearly and dispassionately, but I couldn’t.
My impulse was to plead with him, to implore him not to leave
me, not to go to the War, but I checked it. I felt that he would
go, that it was inevitable, that I had known all the time that
he would, and that I could do nothing.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘it seems to me almost braver not to go;
just to go on doing dull essential work, that somebody must do.
All the sentiment and enthusiasm goes to soldiers, but “they
also serve”. . .?’ I felt sobs in my throat. I stopped short.
Walter said:
‘Yes, I know that too; I know I ought to stay; that my duty is
with you, and my mother; I am not free to choose, but even my
students are going, and those friends of yours have gone.’