'
For awhile the talk ran harmlessly on the weather, and then
branched off towards the war. It seemed to be by no one's fault;
it was in the air, and had to come.
'Good news from the scene of operations,' said the Major.
'Good news while it lasts,' I said. 'But will Miss Gilchrist tell
us her private thought upon the war? In her admiration for the
victors, does not there mingle some pity for the vanquished?'
'Indeed, sir,' she said, with animation, 'only too much of it! War
is a subject that I do not think should be talked of to a girl. I
am, I have to be--what do you call it?--a non-combatant? And to
remind me of what others have to do and suffer: no, it is not
fair!'
'Miss Gilchrist has the tender female heart,' said Chevenix.
'Do not be too sure of that!' she cried. 'I would love to be
allowed to fight myself!'
'On which side?' I asked.
'Can you ask?' she exclaimed. 'I am a Scottish girl!'
'She is a Scottish girl!' repeated the Major, looking at me. 'And
no one grudges you her pity!'
'And I glory in every grain of it she has to spare,' said I. 'Pity
is akin to love.'
'Well, and let us put that question to Miss Gilchrist. It is for
her to decide, and for us to bow to the decision. Is pity, Miss
Flora, or is admiration, nearest love?'
'Oh come,' said I, 'let us be more concrete.
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