He had spoken more frankly than he had intended and a faint colour appeared in his smooth cheek. Mr. Campion met his eye. “That’s how I felt,” he said.
Onyer grimaced. “The old boy’s a hero,” he said awkwardly. “He doesn’t know it and can’t help it, but that’s his role, isn’t it? He’s just over life-size. That’s why it’s so bad when he gets taken in. One isn’t sorry for him, one blames him. One’s shocked. It’s a bit hard on him, but there it is. We’ve shoved him on a pedestal and he’s damned well got to stay there for all our sakes.”
Campion sat looking at his shoes. “If he got seriously involved in anything unpleasant, it would be awkward.”
“It would be a bloody tragedy,” said Onyer, “but that’s not possible—is it?”
The final question was put sharply and Campion looked up to find the
