Part 25 (1/2)
”I don't, Glory. I set them down to the egotism of the religious man.
The religious man can not believe that anybody can live a moral life and act on principle except from the religious impulse.... I suppose he has warned you against me, hasn't he?”
”Well--yes.”
”I'm at a loss to know what I've done to deserve it. But time must justify me. I am not a religious man myself, you know, though I hate to talk of it. To tell you the truth, I think the religious idea a monstrous egotism altogether, and the love of G.o.d merely the love of self. Still, you must judge for yourself, Glory.”
”Are we not wasting our time a little?” she said. ”I am here; isn't that proof enough of my opinion?” And then in an agitated whisper she added: ”I have only half an hour, the gates will be closing, and I want to ask your advice, you know. You remember what I told you in my letter?”
He patted the hand on his arm and said, ”Tell me how it happened.”
She told him everything, with many pauses, expecting every moment that he would break in upon her and say, ”Why didn't you box the woman's ears?” or perhaps laugh and a.s.sure her that it did not matter in the least, and she was making too much of a mere bagatelle. But he listened to every syllable, and after she had finished there was silence for a moment. Then he said: ”I'm sorry--very sorry; in fact, I am much troubled about it.”
Her nerves were throbbing hard and her hand on his arm was twitching.
”If you had left of your own accord after that scene in the board room, it would have been so different--so easy for me to help you!”
”How?”
”I should have spoken to my chief--he is a governor of many hospitals--and said, 'A young friend of mine, a nurse, is uncomfortable in her present place and would like to change her hospital.' It would have been no sooner said than done. But now--now there is the black book against you, and G.o.d knows if ... In fact, somebody has laid a trap for you, Glory, intending to get rid of you at the first opportunity, and you seem to have walked straight into it.”
She felt stunned. ”He has forgotten all he has said to me,” she thought.
In a feeble, expressionless voice she asked:
”But what am I to do now?”
”Let me think.”
They walked some steps in silence. ”He is turning it over,” she thought.
”He will tell me how to begin.”
He stopped, as if seized by a new idea.
”Did you tell them where you had been?”
”No,” she replied, in the same weak voice.
”But why not do so? There is hope in that. The chaplain was your friend--your only friend in London, so far as they know. Surely that is an extenuating circ.u.mstance so plausible----”
”But I cannot----”
”I know it is bitter to explain--to apologize--and if I can do it for you----”
”I will not allow it!” she said. Her lips were set, and her breath was coming through them in gusts.
”It is a pity to allow the hospitals to be closed against you. Nursing is a good profession, Glory--even a fas.h.i.+onable one. It is true womanly work, and----”
”That was what he said.”
”Who? John Storm? He was right. Indeed, he was an entirely honourable and upright man, and----”