"Shall I help you in?" said Derrick. "It is just dinner time."
And as I walked beside them to the hotel, listening to the Major's
flood of irritating words, and glancing now and then at Derrick's
grave, resolute face, which successfully masked such bitter
suffering, I couldn't help reflecting that here was courage
infinitely more deserving of the Victoria Cross than Lawrence's
impulsive rescue. Very patiently he sat through the long dinner. I
doubt if any but an acute observer could have told that he was in
trouble; and, luckily, the world in general observes hardly at all.
He endured the Major till it was time for him to take a Turkish
bath, and then having two hours' freedom, climbed with me up the
rock-covered hill at the back of the hotel. He was very silent.
But I remember that, as we watched the sun go down--a glowing
crimson ball, half veiled in grey mist--he said abruptly, "If
Lawrence makes her happy I can bear it. And of course I always knew
that I was not worthy of her."
Derrick's room was a large, gaunt, ghostly place in one of the
towers of the hotel, and in one corner of it was a winding stair
leading to the roof.
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