cafés in Chassingford,” answered Philip, smiling, “except
on market-day, and then we call them eating-houses. But we can go in the
Greyhound and chat, if you like. And perhaps, if you’re not doing anything
for lunch, you can walk with me up to the Hall when the shower’s over. I’m
sure my mother would be delighted to see you.”
“Sorry, Monsell—awfully sorry—but I’m lunching with my
great-uncle.”
He broke into a roar of happy laughter, laughter that by its cleansing,
heartening quality seemed almost to push the clouds in the sky a little
further off. This notion of possessing a great-uncle amused him immeasurably,
and even Philip, without perceiving exactly what the joke was, could not help
joining in.
“But who is your great-uncle?” he asked, as they entered the cool
tiled hall of the Greyhound.
Ward lowered his voice. “He’s one of the most charming old men I’ve ever
met—and, as it happens, a doctor himself…Doctor Challis…Probably
you know him?”
Philip took the other affectionately by the arm and led the way into the
hotel-lounge. “Now that’s really extraordinary,” he said quietly, “Challis is
our family doctor—has been for the past forty years…”
II
Over beer and lemonade they discussed further, while the
pavements and gutters outside hissed and swirled in the sudden downpour.
“As a matter of fact,” Ward said, when they had settled themselves in the
old-fashioned window-seat, “Challis wants me to be his assistant—sort
of under study, you know. He’s getting too old to tackle all the work by
himself.”
“I should think so. He must be well over sixty.”
“Sixty-five. Of course, it wants thinking about, and I haven’t quite made
up my mind yet—that’s why what I’m telling you is in confidence. You
see—to put it frankly—I have to decide whether coming here
wouldn’t be—in a sort of way—burying myself alive. On the other
hand, Challis has a good practice, and a few years’ general experience is a
good qualification for a medical man if he wants to turn to specialisation
afterwards.”
“And you want to do that?”
“Yes…” He flushed slightly, as if conscious that he had said rather more
about himself than was his habit. “I’m ambitious,
Monsell— very .”
“So am I.”
They stared at each other for a moment without speaking, and then at last
Philip added: “Though so far I’ve been a rather humorous failure. Do you
remember that time you cleared those drunken fellows out of my
room?— I couldn’t have done it—but you seemed to know how
by instinct. I simply don’t know how to deal with people…Last December, for
instance, I made an awful fool of myself at a big political meeting up in
Loamport…”
He told him the whole story, without exaggeration or reticence. There was
nobody else in the world (except, perhaps, Stella) with whom such a
confession would have been even possible.
When he had finished Ward made no comment, and for that Philip was
grateful. By this time also the shower was over, and the clock in the tower
of the parish church began the chiming of noon.
“So you can’t come to lunch with us to-day?” Philip resumed, as they left
the hotel and turned up the High Street.
The other smiled and shook his head regretfully.
“Then to-morrow?”
“Oh rather, yes. I was waiting for you to say that.”
A moment later the sun shone brightly on them as they shook hands and
separated.
III
Since the fiasco at Loamport Philip and Stella had been
aware of a difference in their relationship, but exactly how far the
difference extended neither of them could say. That curious incident in the
ante room of the Loamport Town Hall had brought them face to face with the
reality of their own affections, but afterwards Philip, from very shyness,
had seemed unwilling to define the matter further. When, how ever, Stella
hinted at the change in their relationship, he surprised
on market-day, and then we call them eating-houses. But we can go in the
Greyhound and chat, if you like. And perhaps, if you’re not doing anything
for lunch, you can walk with me up to the Hall when the shower’s over. I’m
sure my mother would be delighted to see you.”
“Sorry, Monsell—awfully sorry—but I’m lunching with my
great-uncle.”
He broke into a roar of happy laughter, laughter that by its cleansing,
heartening quality seemed almost to push the clouds in the sky a little
further off. This notion of possessing a great-uncle amused him immeasurably,
and even Philip, without perceiving exactly what the joke was, could not help
joining in.
“But who is your great-uncle?” he asked, as they entered the cool
tiled hall of the Greyhound.
Ward lowered his voice. “He’s one of the most charming old men I’ve ever
met—and, as it happens, a doctor himself…Doctor Challis…Probably
you know him?”
Philip took the other affectionately by the arm and led the way into the
hotel-lounge. “Now that’s really extraordinary,” he said quietly, “Challis is
our family doctor—has been for the past forty years…”
II
Over beer and lemonade they discussed further, while the
pavements and gutters outside hissed and swirled in the sudden downpour.
“As a matter of fact,” Ward said, when they had settled themselves in the
old-fashioned window-seat, “Challis wants me to be his assistant—sort
of under study, you know. He’s getting too old to tackle all the work by
himself.”
“I should think so. He must be well over sixty.”
“Sixty-five. Of course, it wants thinking about, and I haven’t quite made
up my mind yet—that’s why what I’m telling you is in confidence. You
see—to put it frankly—I have to decide whether coming here
wouldn’t be—in a sort of way—burying myself alive. On the other
hand, Challis has a good practice, and a few years’ general experience is a
good qualification for a medical man if he wants to turn to specialisation
afterwards.”
“And you want to do that?”
“Yes…” He flushed slightly, as if conscious that he had said rather more
about himself than was his habit. “I’m ambitious,
Monsell— very .”
“So am I.”
They stared at each other for a moment without speaking, and then at last
Philip added: “Though so far I’ve been a rather humorous failure. Do you
remember that time you cleared those drunken fellows out of my
room?— I couldn’t have done it—but you seemed to know how
by instinct. I simply don’t know how to deal with people…Last December, for
instance, I made an awful fool of myself at a big political meeting up in
Loamport…”
He told him the whole story, without exaggeration or reticence. There was
nobody else in the world (except, perhaps, Stella) with whom such a
confession would have been even possible.
When he had finished Ward made no comment, and for that Philip was
grateful. By this time also the shower was over, and the clock in the tower
of the parish church began the chiming of noon.
“So you can’t come to lunch with us to-day?” Philip resumed, as they left
the hotel and turned up the High Street.
The other smiled and shook his head regretfully.
“Then to-morrow?”
“Oh rather, yes. I was waiting for you to say that.”
A moment later the sun shone brightly on them as they shook hands and
separated.
III
Since the fiasco at Loamport Philip and Stella had been
aware of a difference in their relationship, but exactly how far the
difference extended neither of them could say. That curious incident in the
ante room of the Loamport Town Hall had brought them face to face with the
reality of their own affections, but afterwards Philip, from very shyness,
had seemed unwilling to define the matter further. When, how ever, Stella
hinted at the change in their relationship, he surprised
Similar Books
