"If you are all right now--I ought to go back to my work," she
remarked--.
I nodded--and she went softly from the room. When I was alone, I used
every bit of my will to calm myself--I analysed the situation. Miss
Sharp loathes me--I cannot hold her by any means if she decides to go--.
The only way I can keep her near me is by continuing to be the cool
employer--And to do this I must see her as little as possible--because
the profound disturbance she is able to cause in me, reacts upon my raw
nerves--and with all the desire in the world to behave like a decent,
indifferent man, the physical weakness won't let me do so, and I am so
bound to make a consummate fool of myself.
When I was in the trenches and the shells were coming, and it was
beastly wet and verminy and uncomfortable, I never felt this feeble,
horrible quivering--I know just what funk is--I felt it the day I did
the thing they gave me the V.C. for. This is not exactly funk--I wish I
knew what it was and could crush it out of myself--.
Oh! if I could only fight again!--that was the best sensation in
life--the zest--the zest!--What is it which prompts us to do decent
actions? I cannot remember that I felt any exaltation specially--it
just seemed part of the day's work--but how one slept! How one enjoyed
any old thing--!
Would it be better to end it all and go out quite? But where should I
go?--the _me_ would not be dead.--I am beginning to believe in
reincarnation. Such queer things happened among the fellows--I suppose
I'd be born again as ugly of soul as I am now--I must send for some
books upon the subject and read it up--perhaps that might give me
serenity.
The Duchesse returned yesterday. I shall go and see her this afternoon I
think,--perhaps she could suggest some definite useful work I could
do--It is so abominably difficult, not being able to get about. What did
she say?--She said I could pray--I remember--she had not time, she
said--but the _Bon Dieu_ understood--I wonder if He understands me--? or
am I too utterly rotten for Him to bother about?
* * * * *
The Duchesse was so pleased to see me--she kissed me on both cheeks--.
"Nicholas! thou art better!" she said--"As I told you--the war is going
to end well--!"
"And how is the book?" she asked presently--"It should be finished--I am
told that your work is intermittent--."
My mind jumped to Maurice as the connecting link--the Duchesse of course
must have seen him--but I myself have seen very little of Maurice
lately--how did he know my work was intermittent--?
"Maurice told you?" I said.
"Maurice?"--her once lovely eyes opened wide--she has a habit of
screwing them up sometimes when she takes off her glasses.--"Do you
suppose I have been on a _partie de plaisir_, my son--that I should have
encountered Maurice--!"