The Citadel by A. J. Cronin Page B

that her argumentativeness came from a Scottish grandmother. Perhaps her independent spirit came from that source too. He often felt that she had great courage, which touched him, made him long to protect her. She was really quite alone in the world except for an invalid aunt in Bridlington.
    When it was fine on Saturday or Sunday afternoons they took long walks along the Pandy Road. Once they had gone to see a film, Chaplin in the Gold Rush, and again to Toniglan, at her suggestion, to an orchestral concert. But most of all he enjoyed the evenings when Mrs Watkins was visiting her and he was able to enjoy the intimacy of her companionship in her own sitting-room. It was then that most of their discussions took place, with Mrs Watkins, knitting placidly yet primly resolved to make her wool last out the session, no more than a respectable buffer state between them.
    Now, with this visit to Cardiff in prospect, he wished her to accompany him. Bank Street School broke up for the summer holidays at the end of the week and she was going to Bridlington to spend her vacation with her aunt. He felt that some special celebration was needed before she took her leave.
    When she had read the letter he said, impulsively:
    ‘Will you come with me? It’s only an hour and a half in the train. I’ll get Blodwen to unchain me on Saturday evening. We might manage to see something of the Conference. And in any case I’d like you to meet Hamson.’
    She nodded.
    Excited by her acceptance he had no intention of being baulked by Miss Page. Before he approached her upon the matter he placed a conspicuous notice in the surgery window:
Closed Saturday Evening.
    He went into the house gaily.
    ‘Miss Page! According to my reading of the Sweated Medical Assistants Act, I’m entitled to one half day off a year. I’d like mine on Saturday. I’m going to Cardiff.’
    ‘Now look you here, doctor.’ She bristled at his demand, thinking that he was very full of himself, uppish; but after staring at him suspiciously she grudgingly declared, ‘Oh, well – you can go, I suppose.’ A sudden idea struck her. Her eye cleared. She smacked her lips. ‘Anyhow I’ll have you bring me some pastries from Parry’s. There’s nothing I fancy better than Parry’s pastries.’
    On Saturday, at half past four, Christine and Andrew took train for Cardiff. Andrew was in high spirits, boisterous, hailing porter and booking clerk by their first names. With a smile he looked across at Christine, seated on the opposite seat. She wore a navy blue coat and skirt which intensified her usual air of trimness. Her black shoes were very neat. Her eyes, like her whole appearance, conveyed a sense of appreciation of the expedition. They were shining.
    At the sight of her there, a wave of tenderness came over him and a fresh sense of desire. It was all very well, he thought, this comradeship of theirs. But he wanted more than that. He wanted to take her in his arms, to feel her, warm and breathing, close to him.
    Involuntarily he said:
    ‘I’ll be lost without you – when you’re away this summer.’
    Her cheeks coloured slightly. She looked out of the window. He asked impulsively:
    ‘Shouldn’t I have said that?’
    ‘I’m glad you said it, anyway,’ she answered without looking round.
    It was on his tongue to tell her that he loved her, to ask her, in spite of the ridiculous insecurity of his position, if she would marry him. He saw, with sudden lucid insight, that this was the only, the inevitable solution for them. But something, an intuition that the moment was not apt, restrained him. He decided he would speak to her in the train coming home.
    Meanwhile he went on, rather breathlessly:
    ‘We ought to have a grand time this evening. Hamson’s a good chap. He was rather a blade at the Royal. He’s a smart lad. I remember once,’ his eyes became reminiscent, ‘there was a charity matinee in Dundee for the hospitals. All the stars were appearing, you know,