Alvina felt this was the thing to do. Everywhere was a stir and a seethe of excitement. Men were active, women were needed too. She put down her name on the list of volunteers for active service. This was on the last day of August.
On the first of September Dr. Mitchell was round at the hospital early, when Alvina was just beginning her morning duties there. He went into the matron’s room, and asked for Nurse Houghton. The matron left them together.
The doctor was excited. He smiled broadly, but with a tension of nervous excitement. Alvina was troubled. Her heart beat fast.
“Now!” said Dr. Mitchell. “What have you to say to me?”
She looked up at him with confused eyes. He smiled excitedly and meaningful at her, and came a little nearer.
“Today is the day when you answer, isn’t it?” he said. “Now then, let me hear what you have to say.”
But she only watched him with large, troubled eyes, and did not speak. He came still nearer to her.
“Well then,” he said, “I am to take it that silence gives consent.” And he laughed nervously, with nervous anticipation, as he tried to put his arm round her. But she stepped suddenly back.
“No, not yet,” she said.
“Why?” he asked.
“I haven’t given my answer,” she said.
“Give it then,” he said, testily.
“I’ve volunteered for active service,” she stammered. “I felt I ought to do something.”
“Why?” he asked. He could put a nasty intonation into that monosyllable. “I should have thought you would answer me first.”
She did not answer, but watched him. She did not like him.
“I only signed yesterday,” she said.
“Why didn’t you leave it till tomorrow? It would have looked better.” He was angry. But he saw a half-frightened, half-guilty look on her face, and during the weeks of anticipation he had worked himself up.
“But put that aside,” he smiled again, a little dangerously. “You have still to answer my question. Having volunteered for war service doesn’t prevent your being engaged to me, does it?”
Alvina watched him with large eyes. And again he came very near to her, so that his blue-serge waistcoat seemed to impinge on her, and his purplish red face was above her.
“I’d rather not be engaged, under the circumstances,” she said.
“Why?” came the nasty monosyllable. “What have the circumstances got to do with it?”
“Everything is so uncertain,” she said. “I’d rather wait.”
“Wait! Haven’t you waited long enough? There’s nothing at all to prevent your getting engaged to me now. Nothing whatsoever! Come now. I’m old enough not to be played with. And I’m much too much in love with you to let you go on indefinitely like this. Come now!” He smiled imminent, and held out his large hand for her hand. “Let me put the ring on your finger. It will be the proudest day of my life when I make you my wife. Give me your hand—”
Alvina was wavering. For one thing, mere curiosity made her want to see the ring. She half lifted her hand. And but for the knowledge that he would kiss her, she would have given it. But he would kiss her—and against that she obstinately set her will. She put her hand behind her back, and looked obstinately into his eyes.
“Don’t play a game with me,” he said dangerously.
But she only continued to look mockingly and obstinately into his eyes.
“Come,” he said, beckoning for her to give her hand.
With a barely perceptible shake of the head, she refused, staring at him all the time. His ungovernable temper got the better of him. He saw red, and without knowing, seized her by the shoulder, swung her back, and thrust her, pressed her against the wall as if he would push her through it. His face was blind with anger, like a hot, red sun. Suddenly, almost instantaneously, he came to himself again and drew back his hands, shaking his right hand as if some rat had bitten it.
“I’m sorry!” he shouted, beside himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” He dithered before her.
She recovered her equilibrium, and, pale to the lips, looked at him with sombre eyes.
“I’m sorry!” he continued loudly, in his strange frenzy like a small boy. “Don’t remember! Don’t remember! Don’t think I did it.”
His face was a kind of blank, and unconsciously he wrung the hand that had gripped her, as if it pained him. She watched him, and wondered why on earth all this frenzy. She was left rather cold, she did not at all feel the strong feelings he seemed to expect of her. There was nothing so very unnatural, after all, in being bumped up suddenly against the wall. Certainly her shoulder hurt where he had gripped it. But there were plenty of worse hurts in the world. She watched him with wide, distant eyes.
And he fell on his knees before her, as she backed against the bookcase, and he caught hold of the edge of her dress-bottom, drawing it to him. Which made her rather abashed, and much more uncomfortable.
“Forgive me!” he said. “Don’t remember! Forgive me! Love me! Love me! Forgive me and love me! Forgive me and love me!”
As Alvina was looking down dismayed on the great, red-faced, elderly man, who in his crying-out showed his white teeth like a child, and as she was gently trying to draw her skirt from his clutch, the door opened, and there stood the matron, in her big frilled cap. Alvina glanced at her, flushed crimson and looked down to the man. She touched his face with her hand.
“Never mind,” she said. “It’s nothing. Don’t think about it.”
He caught her hand and clung to it.
“Love me! Love me! Love me!” he cried.
The matron softly closed the door again, withdrawing.
“Love me! Love me!”
Alvina was absolutely dumbfounded by this scene. She had no idea men did such things. It did not touch her, it dumbfounded her.
The doctor, clinging to her hand, struggled to his feet
