Simon Called Peter | Page 8

I shall do without you. You've become the
centre of my life. I count on seeing you, and on working with you. If
you go, you, you may ... Oh, I can't say it! I ought not to say all this.
But..." She broke off abruptly.
Graham glanced round him. They were in the park now, and no one in
particular was about in the quiet of the sidewalk. He put his hand out,
and drew her gently to a seat. Then, leaning forward and poking at the
ground with his stick, he began. "Hilda, darling," he said, "it's awful to
have to speak to you just now and just like this, but I must. First, about
ourselves. I love you with all my heart, only that's so little to say; I love
you so much that you fill my life. And I have planned my life with you.
I hardly knew it, but I had. I thought I should just go on and get a living
and marry you--perhaps, if you would (I can hardly speak of it now I
know you would)--and--and--oh, I don't know--make a name in the
Church, I suppose. Well, and I hope we shall one day, but now this has
come along. I really feel all I said this morning, awfully. I shall go
out--I must. The men must be helped; one can't sit still and imagine
them dying, wounded, tempted, and without a priest. It's a supreme
chance. We shall be fighting for honour and truth, and the Church must
be there to bear her witness and speak her message. There will be no
end to do. And it is a chance of a lifetime to get into touch with the men,
and understand them. You do see that, don't you? And, besides--forgive
me, but I must put it so--if He had compassion on the multitude, ought
we not to have too? He showed it by death; ought we to fear even that
too?"
The girl stole out a hand, and his gripped it hard. Then she remembered
the conventions and pulled it away, and sat a little more upright. She
was extraordinarily conscious of herself, and she felt as if she had two
selves that day. One was Hilda Lessing, a girl she knew quite well, a
well-trained person who understood life, and the business of society

and of getting married, quite correctly; and the other was somebody she
did not know at all, that could not reason, and who felt naked and
ashamed. It was inexplicable, but it was so. That second self was
listening to heroics and even talking them, and surely heroics were a
little out of date.
She looked across a wide green space, and saw, through the distant
trees, the procession of the church parade. She felt as if she ought to be
there, and half unconsciously glanced at her dress. A couple of terriers
ran scurrying across the grass, and a seat-ticket man came round the
corner. Behind them a taxi hooted, and some sparrows broke out into a
noisy chatter in a bush. And here was Peter talking of death, and the
Cross--and out of church, too.
She gave a little shudder, and glanced at a wrist-watch. "Peter," she
said, "we must go. Dear, for my sake, do think it over. Wait a little, and
see what happens. I quite understand your point of view, but you must
think of others--even your Vicar, my parents, and of me. And Peter,
shall we say anything about our--our love? What do you think?"
Peter Graham looked at her steadily, and as she spoke he, too, felt the
contrast between his thoughts and ordinary life. The London curate was
himself again. He got up. "Well, darling," he said, "just as you like, but
perhaps not--at any rate until I know what I have to do. I'll think that
over. Only, we shan't change, shall we, whatever happens? You do love
me, don't you? And I do love you."
Hilda met his gaze frankly and blushed a little. She held out a hand to
be helped up. "My dear boy," she said.
After luncheon Peter smoked a cigar in the study with Mr. Lessing
before departure. Every detail of that hour impressed itself upon him as
had the events of the day, for his mind was strung up to see the inner
meaning of things clearly.
They began with the usual ritual of the selection of chairs and cigars,
and Mr. Lessing had a glass of port with his coffee, because, as he
explained, his nerves were all on edge. Comfortably stretched out in an

armchair, blowing smoke thoughtfully towards the empty grate, his fat
face and body did not seem capable of nerves, still less to be suffering
from them,