"What's that? Chopin?
Sydney, will you condescend to the apothecary's boy?"
As he led her to the dancing-room, she asked, "You can't really mean
this, Jock. Cecil is breaking his heart about it."
"There are worse trades."
"But it is such a cruel pity!"
"What? The execution I shall make," he said lightly.
"For shame, Jock!"
But he went on teasing her, because their hearts were so very full.
"'Tis just the choice between various means of slaughter."
"Don't!" she exclaimed. "Something can be done to prevent your
throwing yourself away. Why can't you exchange?"
"It is too late to get into any corps where I should not be an
expense to my mother," said Jock, regretting his decision a good deal
more when he found how she regarded it.
"Well, sacrifice is something!" sighed Sydney.
Jock defied strange feelings by a laugh and the reply, "Equal to the
finest thing in the 'Traveller's Joy,' and that was the knight who
let the hyena eat up his hand that his lady might finish her rosary
undisturbed."
"It is as bad-—or as good-—to let the hyena eat up your sword hand as
to cut yourself off from all that is great and noble-—all we used to
think you would do."
So spoke Sydney Evelyn in her girlish prejudice, and the prospects
that had recently seemed to Lucas so fair and kindly, suddenly
clouded over and became dull, gloomy, and despicable.
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