Free The Judas Tree by A. J. Cronin Page A

first be thought I was joking. He couldn’t believe his ears, that any woman would turn him down. When he found I was in earnest… he wasn’t… nice. Then his parents came to see Father. That was bad too.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I was called a few fancy names.’
    â€˜Oh God,’ he groaned, ‘ to think of you having to suffer that and me not there. I’d like to break that damn fellow’s neck.’
    â€˜No,’ she said seriously. ‘I suppose I was to blame. But I can only thank Heaven for being spared the awfulness of getting into that family and,’ she pressed close to him, ‘for finding you.
    I love you, Davie.’
    â€˜And I you, Mary.’
    â€˜That’s everything,’ she sighed. ‘Nothing else matters.’
    â€˜But didn’t your own family stand up for you?’
    â€˜In a way,’ she said. ‘ But except for Willie they’re not too pleased with me for all that. However, here we are, and first we’d better see my father.’
    Through an entrance in the near side of the yard she took him into the bakery. It was low and dark, hot from the glow of two draw-plate ovens, and honey-sweet with the smell of a batch of new bread. Douglas, with his foreman, John Donaldson, was shelving the heavy board on which the double Scotch loaves, black crust upwards, were ranged in rows. The baker was in his shirt sleeves, wearing a floury apron, and old white canvas shoes. Over his shoulder he saw Moray enter, yet he finished the shelving, then slowly divested himself of the apron before coming forward.
    â€˜It’s yourself, then,’ he said, unsmiling, offering his hand.
    â€˜Father,’ Mary burst out, ‘David has passed his examination with honours, and come out top of the list.’
    â€˜So you’re a doctor now. Well, that’s something gained.’
    He led the way out of the bakery and upstairs to the front parlour, where Willie was at the cleared table doing his lessons and Aunt Minnie seated knitting by the window. The boy gave Moray a swift welcoming smile but the aunt, frowning at her flashing needles, did not once look up.
    â€˜Sit down, man, sit down,’ said the little baker. ‘We’ve had our tea earlier nor usual today. But… well, maybe afterwards, if ye’re hungry, Mary’ll get you a bite.’
    David took a stiff chair by the table. Mary drew another over and sat down by his side.
    â€˜Leave the room, Willie,’ the aunt said, finally forking her needles into the knitting and favouring Moray with a chilly scrutiny. ‘Did you hear me, Willie!’
    Willie went out.
    â€˜Now, David,’ the baker began, ‘ yet must understand that this has been a bit of a shock to us …’
    â€˜And to everybody else,’ Aunt Minnie cut in, her head shaking with indignation. ‘The whole town is ringing with it. It’s a positive scandal and disgrace.’
    â€˜Ay,’ Douglas resumed. ‘It has placed us in a most unfortunate position. My daughter had given her plighted word to a worthy man, well connected and highly respected in the borough. Not only was she engaged to be married, the wedding day bad been set; when suddenly, without rhyme or reason, she breaks the whole thing off in favour of a total stranger.’
    â€˜There was a very good reason, sir. Mary and I fell in love.’
    â€˜Love!’ exclaimed the aunt in an indescribable tone. ‘Before you appeared on that blessed bike of yours, like some – some half-baked Lochinvar, she was in love with Walter.’
    â€˜Not at all.’ Moray felt Mary’s hand steal towards his under the table. ‘She never was. And I’m convinced she would never have been happy with him. You’ve called Stoddart a worthy man. I think he’s a pompous, conceited, unfeeling ass.’
    â€˜That’ll do now,’ Douglas interposed sharply. ‘Walter may have his