But she managed to go out to lunch with him twice
and once to dine; after which they drove back to the hospital in a slow and
battered old hansom.
She returned a few weeks before the Armistice. She had not seen him for
four months. He was well and expecting to be sent back to the front any
day. At present they were making use of him in London.
If anything he appeared to admire her more than ever, to be more solicitous
for her health. He lamented personally her exacting duties. But it was the
almost exuberant friendliness of one man for another, for a comrade, a good
fellow; although he often paid her quick little diagnostic compliments. If
she hadn't loved him she would have enjoyed his companionship. He had read
and thought and lived. Before the war he had been in active public life. He
had far greater plans for the future.
He had been almost entirely impersonal. It had maddened her. Even the night
they had driven through the dark streets of London out to her hospital,
although he had talked more or less about himself, even encouraged her to
talk about herself, there had not been one instant of correlation.
But she had made excuses as women do, in self-defense. He assumed that
he might easily go back to the front just in time to get himself killed,
although the end of the war was in sight....Her utter lack of experience
with men in any sex relation had made her stiff, even in her letters;
afraid of "giving herself away.
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