At the End of the Day. Betty Neels

observe that they had done quite well, even allowing for Sister Mitchell’s well meant hints.

      She had reddened delightfully at that, but had said nothing.

      She had bought a basket for Wellington and in order to save time had packed an overnight bag on Friday morning before she went on duty, with any luck she would be able to get an evening train to Salisbury. If she ‘phoned home just before she left her father would meet her there. She went through the day happily enough, now that she knew she would be free in a few hours. She had seen Nigel at dinner time, just for a few minutes and suggested that he might get a weekend while she was on holiday and drive himself down to her home and he had seemed delighted with the idea. They had made a date for Monday evening when they would both be off duty, and she had returned to the afternoon’s work in a glow of contentment.

      It had taken no time at all to hurry round to the flat once she was off duty, change into a jersey two-piece, cram Wellington into his basket and with her overnight bag in her other hand, take a taxi to Waterloo. It was still early evening and quite warm and the train was only half full. She sat with Wellington’s basket beside her, and allowed her thoughts to dwell on the future. It seemed rosy enough although there were one or two small pinpricks, silly ones really—her future mother-in-law loomed a little too large but she was the first to admit that probably she was making a mountain out of a molehill. She still could not see why she and Nigel shouldn’t get married before Christmas, perhaps if he spent a couple of days with her while she was on holiday she would be able to persuade him. Then there was the vexed question of her birthday. It had undoubtedly slipped Nigel’s mind, he had had a lot to think about just then, all the same, she had been hurt, still was… One day soon, she told herself bracingly, she would tell him about it and they would laugh together.

      The train drew into Salisbury and she collected her bag and with Wellington’s basket in her hand, got out of the carriage. She saw her father at once, tall and thin and a little stooping and her heart gave a happy leap; for some reason she was glad to be well away from St Anne’s and her own problems, which already seemed remote and unimportant. She gave a small yelp of delight and hurried towards him.