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.