Giant’s Bread · Book IV · II · Chapter 4 2 3

III

It had been like a dream. Now the dream was over. Nell was back at the hospital. It seemed to her she had never been away. She waited desperately for the post⁠—for Vernon’s first letter. It came⁠—more ardent and unrestrained than usual, as though even censorship had been forgotten. Nell wore it against her heart and the indelible pencil came off on her skin. She wrote and told him so.

Life went on as usual. Dr. Lang went out to the front and was replaced by an elderly doctor with a beard who said, “Thank ye, thank ye, Sister,” every time he was offered a towel or was helped on with his white linen coat. They had a slack time with most of the beds empty and Nell found the enforced idleness trying.

One day, to her surprise and delight, Sebastian walked in. He was home on leave and had come down to look her up. Vernon had asked him to.

“You’ve seen him then?”

Sebastian said yes, his lot had taken over from Vernon.

“And he’s all right?”

“Oh! yes, he’s all right!”

Something in the way he said it caused her alarm. She pressed him. Sebastian frowned in perplexity.

“It’s difficult to explain, Nell. You see, Vernon’s an odd beggar⁠—always has been. He doesn’t like looking things in the face.”

He quelled the fierce retort that he saw rising to her lips.

“I don’t mean in the least what you think I mean. He isn’t afraid. Lucky devil, I don’t think he knows what fear is. I wish I didn’t. No, it’s different from that. It’s the whole life⁠—it’s pretty ghastly, you know. Dirt and blood and filth, and noise⁠—above all, noise! Recurrent noise at fixed times. It gets on my nerves, so what must it do to Vernon’s?”

“Yes, but what did you mean by not facing things?”

“Simply that he won’t admit that there’s anything to face. He’s afraid of minding, so he says there’s nothing to mind. If he’d only admit that it’s a bloody filthy business like I do he’d be all right. But it’s like that old piano business⁠—he won’t look at the thing fair and square. And it’s no good saying ‘there ain’t no such thing’ when there is. But that’s always been Vernon’s way. He’s in good spirits⁠—enjoying everything⁠—and it isn’t natural. I’m afraid of his⁠—Oh! I don’t know what I’m afraid of. But I know that telling yourself fairy stories is about the worst thing you can do. Vernon’s a musician, and he’s got the nerves of a musician. The worst of him is that he doesn’t know anything about himself. He never has.”

Nell looked troubled.

“Sebastian, what do you think will happen?”

“Oh, nothing, probably. What I should like to happen would be for Vernon to stop one, in as conveniently painless a place as possible, and come back to be nursed for a bit.”

“How I wish that would happen!”

“Poor old Nell! It’s rotten for all you people. I’m glad I haven’t got a wife.”

“If you had⁠—” Nell paused, then went on. “Would you want her to work in a hospital or would you rather she did nothing?”

“Everybody will be working sooner or later. It’s as well to get down to it as soon as possible, I should say.”

“Vernon doesn’t like my doing this.”

“That’s his ostrich act again, plus the reactionary spirit that he’s inherited and will never quite outgrow. Sooner or later he’ll face the fact that women are working⁠—but he won’t admit it till the last minute.”

Nell sighed.

“How worrying everything is.”

“I know. And I’ve made things worse for you. But I’m awfully fond of Vernon. He’s the one friend I care about. And I hoped if I told you what I thought you’d encourage him to⁠—well, give way a little⁠—at any rate to you. But perhaps to you he does let himself go?”

Nell shook her head.

“He won’t do anything but joke about the war.”

Sebastian whistled.

“Well, next time⁠—get it out of him. Stick to it.”

Nell said suddenly and sharply: “Do you think he’d talk better⁠—to Jane?”

“To Jane?” Sebastian looked rather embarrassed. “I don’t know. Perhaps. It all depends.”

“You do think so! Why? Tell me why? Is she more sympathetic, or what?”

“Oh! Lord, no. Jane’s not exactly sympathetic. Provocative is more the word. You get annoyed with her⁠—and out pops the truth. She makes you aware of yourself in ways you don’t want to be. There’s nobody like Jane for pulling you off your high horse.”

“You think she’s a lot of influence over Vernon?”

“Oh! I wouldn’t say that. And anyhow, it wouldn’t matter if she had. She’s doing relief work in Serbia. Sailed a fortnight ago.”

“Oh!” said Nell. She drew a deep breath and smiled.

Somehow, she felt happier.