The Lost Girl, D. H. Lawrence [spicy books to read txt] 📗

a hurry. But she bore poor Dr. Mitchell a deep grudge, that he could not grant her all the advantages of his offer, and excuse her the acceptance of him himself. She dared not decide in a hurry. And this very fear, like a yoke on her, made her resent the man who drove her to decision.

Sometimes she rebelled. Sometimes she laughed unpleasantly in the man's face: though she dared not go too far: for she was a little afraid of him and his rabid temper, also. In her moments of sullen rebellion she thought of Natcha-Kee-Tawara. She thought of them deeply. She wondered where they were, what they were doing, how the war had affected them. Poor Geoffrey was a Frenchman—he would have to go to France to fight. Max and Louis were Swiss, it would not affect them: nor Ciccio, who was Italian. She wondered if the troupe was in England: if they would continue together when Geoffrey was gone. She wondered if they thought of her. She felt they did. She felt they did not forget her. She felt there was a connection.

In fact, during the latter part of August she wondered a good deal more about the Natchas than about Dr. Mitchell. But wondering about the Natchas would not help her. She felt, if she knew where they were, she would fly to them. But then she knew she wouldn't.

When she was at the station she saw crowds and bustle. People were seeing their young men off. Beer was flowing: sailors on the train were tipsy: women were holding young men by the lapel of the coat. And when the train drew away, the young men waving, the women cried aloud and sobbed after them.

A chill ran down Alvina's spine. This was another matter, apart from her Dr. Mitchell. It made him feel very unreal, trivial. She did not know what she was going to do. She realized she must do something—take some part in the wild dislocation of life. She knew that she would put off Dr. Mitchell again.

She talked the matter over with the matron. The matron advised her to procrastinate. Why not volunteer for war-service? True, she was a maternity nurse, and this was hardly the qualification needed for the nursing of soldiers. But still, she was a nurse.

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 and flung his arms round her, clasping her wildly to him.

"You love me! You love me, don't you?" he said, vibrating and beside himself as he pressed her to his breast and hid his face against her hair. At such a moment, what was the good of saying she didn't? But she didn't. Pity for his shame, however, kept her silent, motionless and silent in his arms, smothered against the blue-serge waistcoat of his broad breast.

He was beginning to come to himself. He became silent. But he still strained her fast, he had no idea of letting her go.

"You will take my ring, won't you?" he said at last, still in the strange, lamentable voice. "You will take my ring."

"Yes," she said coldly. Anything for a quiet emergence from this scene.

He fumbled feverishly in his pocket with one hand, holding her still fast by the other arm. And with one hand he managed to extract the ring from its case, letting the case roll away on the floor. It was a diamond solitaire.

"Which finger? Which finger is it?" he asked, beginning to smile rather weakly. She extricated her hand, and held out her engagement finger. Upon it was the mourning-ring Miss Frost had always worn. The doctor slipped the diamond solitaire above the mourning ring, and folded Alvina to his breast again.

"Now," he said, almost in his normal voice. "Now I know you love me." The pleased self-satisfaction in his voice made her angry. She managed to extricate herself.

"You will come along with me now?" he said.

"I can't," she answered. "I must get back to my work here."

"Nurse Allen can do that."

"I'd rather not."

"Where are you going today?"

She told him her cases.

"Well, you will come and have tea with me. I shall expect you to have tea with me every day."

But Alvina was straightening her crushed cap before the mirror, and did not answer.

"We can see as much as we like of each other now we're engaged," he said, smiling with satisfaction.

"I wonder where the matron is," said Alvina, suddenly going into the cool white corridor. He followed her. And they met the matron just coming out of the ward.

"Matron!" said Dr. Mitchell, with a return of his old mouthing importance. "You may congratulate Nurse Houghton and me on our engagement—" He smiled largely.

"I may congratulate you, you mean," said the matron.

"Yes, of course. And both of us, since we are now one," he replied.

"Not quite, yet," said the matron gravely.

And at length she managed to get rid of him.

At once she went to look for Alvina, who had gone to her duties.

"Well, I suppose it is all right," said the matron gravely.

"No it isn't," said Alvina. "I shall never marry him."

"Ah, never is a long while! Did he hear me come in?"

"No, I'm sure he didn't."

"Thank goodness for that."

"Yes indeed! It was perfectly horrible. Following me round on his knees and shouting for me to love him! Perfectly horrible!"

"Well," said the matron. "You never know what men will do till you've known them. And then you need be surprised at nothing, nothing. I'm surprised at nothing they do—"

"I must say," said Alvina, "I was surprised. Very unpleasantly."

"But you accepted him—"

"Anything to quieten him—like a hysterical child."

"Yes, but I'm not sure you haven't taken a very risky way of quietening him, giving him what he wanted—"

"I think," said Alvina, "I can look after myself. I may be moved any day now."

"Well—!" said the matron. "He may prevent your getting moved, you know. He's on the board. And if he says you are indispensable—"

This was a new idea for Alvina to cogitate. She had counted on a speedy escape. She put his ring in her apron pocket, and there she forgot it until he pounced on her in the afternoon, in the house of one of her patients. He waited for her, to take her off.

"Where is your ring?" he said.

And she realized that it lay in the pocket of a soiled,