Peter pushed back for home on his bicycle, but stopped at the docks on his way to look up Pennell.  That gentleman was bored, weary, and inclined to be blasphemous.  It appeared that for the whole, infernal day he had had to watch the off-loading of motor-spares, that he had had no lunch, and that he could not get away for a day next week if he tried.  “It isn’t everyone can get a day off whenever he wants to, padre,” he said.  “In the next war I shall be ...”  Peter turned hard on his heel, and left him complaining to the derricks.

He was now all but cornered.  There was nobody else he particularly cared to ask unless it were Arnold, and he could not imagine Arnold and Julie together.  It appeared to him that fate was on his side; it only remained to persuade Julie to come alone.  He pedalled back to mess and dinner, and then, about half-past eight, strolled round to the hospital again.  It was late, of course, but he was a padre, and the hospital padre, and privileged.  He knew exactly what to do, and that he was really as safe as houses in doing it, and yet this intriguing by night made him uncomfortable still.  He told himself he was an ass to think so, but he could not get rid of the sensation.

Julie would be on duty till 9.30, and he could easily have a couple of minutes’ conversation with her in the ward.  He followed the railway-track, then, along the harbour, and went in under the great roof of the empty station.  On the far platform a hospital train was being made ready for its return run, but, except for a few cleaners and orderlies, the place was empty.

An iron stairway led up from the platform to the wards above.  He ascended, and found himself on a landing with the door of the theatre open before him.  There was a light in it, and he caught the sound of water; some pro. was cleaning up.  He moved down the passage and cautiously opened the door of the ward.

It was shaded and still.  Somewhere a man breathed heavily, and another turned in his sleep.  Just beyond the red glow of the stove, with the empty armchairs in a circle before it, were screens from which came a subdued light.  He walked softly between the beds towards them, and looked over the top.

Inside was a little sanctum:  a desk with a shaded reading-lamp, a chair, a couch, a little table with flowers upon it and a glass and jug, and on the floor by the couch a work-basket.  Julie was at the desk writing in a big official book, and he watched her for a moment unobserved.  It was almost as if he saw a different person from the girl he knew.  She was at work, and a certain hidden sadness showed clearly in her face.  But the little brown fringe of hair on her forehead and the dimpled chin were the same....

“Good-evening,” he whispered.

She looked up quickly, with a start, and he noticed curiously how rapidly the laughter came back to her face.  “You did startle me, Solomon,” she said.  “What is it?”