"No, I won't!--If you only admit by inference that you are lonely, I say
it right out--I am abominably lonely this morning and I want to talk to
you.--Did I see you at the Duchesse de Courville-Hautevine's on
Wednesday last?"
"Possibly."
I literally had not the pluck to ask her what she was doing there.
However, she went on--.
"There are still many wounded who require bandages--."
That was it! of course--she was bringing bandages!
"She is a splendid woman, the Duchesse, she was a friend of my
mother's--" I said.
Miss Sharp looked down suddenly--she had her head turned towards the
window.
"There are many splendid women in France--but you don't see them--the
poor are too wonderful, they lose their nearest and dearest and never
complain, they only say it is '_la Guerre_!'."
"Have you any near relations fighting?"--
"Yes"--
It was too stupid having to drag information out of her like this--I
gave it up--and then I was haunted by the desire to know what relations
they were?--If she has a father he must be at least fifty--and he must
be in the English Army--why then does she seem so poor?--It can't be a
brother--her's is only thirteen--would a cousin count as a near
relation?--or--can she have a _fiancé_--?!
The sudden idea of this caused me a nasty twinge--But no, her third
finger has no ring on it.--I grew calmer again--.
"I feel you have a hundred thousand interesting things to say if you
would only talk!" I blurted out at last.
"I am not here to talk, Sir Nicholas--I am here to do your typing."
"Does that make a complete barrier?--Won't you be friends with me?"
Burton came into the room at that moment--and while he was there she
slipped off to her typing without answering me. Burton has arranged a
place for her in his room, which is next to mine, so that I shall not be
disturbed by the noise of her machine clicking.
"Miss Sharp must lunch with me"--I said.
Burton coughed as he answered.
"Very good, Sir Nicholas."
That meant that he did not approve of this arrangement--why?--Really
these old servants are unsupportable.
The antediluvian waiters come in to lay the table presently, and I
ordered peaches and grapes and some very special chablis--I felt
exultant at my having manoeuvred that Miss Sharp should eat with me!
She came in when all was ready with her usual serene calm--and took her
place at right angles to me.
Her hands are not nearly so red to-day, and their movements when she
began to eat pleased me--her wrists are tiny, and everything she does is
dainty.
She did not peck her food like a bird, as very slight people sometimes
do--and she was entirely at ease--it was I who was nervous--.
"Won't you take off your glasses," I suggested--but she declined--.
"Of what use--I can see with them on."
This disconcerted me.
The waiter poured out the chablis carefully. She took it casually
without a remark, but for an instant a cynical expression grew round her
mouth--What was she thinking of?--it is impossible to tell, not seeing
her eyes--but some cynical thought was certainly connected with the
wine--By the direction of her head she may have been reading the label
on the bottle--Does she know how much it cost and disapprove of that in
war time--or what?
We talked of French politics next,--that is, she answered everything I
said with intelligence, and then let the subject drop
immediately--Nothing could be more exasperating because I knew it was
deliberate and not that she is stupid, or could not keep up the most
profound conversation. She seemed to know the war situation very
well--Then I began about French literature--and at the end of the meal
had dragged out enough replies to my questions to know that she is an
exquisitely cultivated person--Oh! what a companion she would make if
only I could break down this wretched barrier of her reserve!
She ate a peach--and I do hope she liked it--but she refused a cigarette
when I offered her one--.
"I don't smoke."
"Oh, I am so sorry I did not know--" and I put out mine.
"You need not do that--I don't mind other people smoking, so long as I
need not do it myself."