She loved him so, that when he went away to a little war in which
his country was interested she could not understand, nor quite forgive.
the correspondent of a newspaper, Chesterton had looked on at other
wars; when the yellow races met, when the infidel Turk spanked the
Christian Greek; and one he had watched from inside a British square,
where he was greatly alarmed lest he should be trampled upon by
terrified camels. This had happened before he and she had
met. After they met, she told him that what chances he had chosen
to take before he came into her life fell outside of her
jurisdiction. But now that his life belonged to her, this talk of
his standing up to be shot at was wicked. It was worse than
wicked; it was absurd.