Monday was a perfectly impossible day--I spent all the morning before I
returned to Versailles in writing to Maurice, telling him he must find
out all about Miss Sharp--Alathea--I felt if I told him her Christian
name it would be a clue--and yet even to assist in that, which was, at
the moment, my heart's desire, I could not overcome my personal dislike
to pronounce it to Maurice!--it seemed as something sacred to me
alone--which makes me reflect upon how egotistical we all are--and how
we would all rather fail in attaining what is our greatest wish than not
to be able to express our own personality--!
Nina had suggested before she left that I should stay in Paris and come
to the theatre with her--.
"We could have some delicious old times, Nicholas, now that you are so
much better."
Once this would have thrilled me--only last Spring! but now the
contrariness in me made me say that it was absolutely necessary that I
returned immediately to Versailles. I believe I should have answered
like that even if there had been no Miss Sharp,--Alathea--in the case,
just because I now knew Nina really wanted me to stay--every man is like
that, more or less, if only women knew!--The whole sex relation is one
of fence--until the object has been secured--and then emotion dies out
altogether, or is revived in one or the other, but very seldom in both.
Love--real love--is beyond all this I suppose, and does not depend upon
whether or no the other person excites one's desire for conquest. Love
must be wonderful--I believe Alathea--(I have actually written it
naturally this time!--) could love. I never used to think I could, at
the best of moments I have analysed my emotions, and stood aside as it
were, and measured just how much things were meaning to me.
But when I think of that scrap of a girl, with her elusive ways, her
pride, her refinement, even her little red hands--! I have a longing--a
passionate longing to hold her always near me--to know that she is
mine--that for the rest of time I should be with her, learning from her
high thoughts, comforted by her strength of character--believing in
her--respecting her--Yes, that is it--_respecting her_. How few women
one meets with attractions that one really respects.--One respects many
elderly ones, of course, and abstract splendid creatures, but bringing
it down to concrete facts, how few are the women who have drawn one's
admiration or excited one's desire, who at the same time one
reverenced!--Love must mean reverence--that is it.
And what is reverence--?
The soul's acknowledgment of the purity of another--and purity in this
sense means truth and honor, and lofty aims--not the denial of all
passion, or the practice of asceticism.
I utterly reverence Alathea, and yet I am sure with that mouth--if she
loved me she would be anything but cold. How on God's earth can I make
her love me--?
I went back to Versailles after luncheon, having had to see the
specialist about my eye, he thinks the socket is so marvelously healed
lately, that I could have the glass one in now much sooner than
Christmas. I wonder if some self confidence will return when I can feel
people are not revolted when looking at me?--That again is
super-sensitiveness. Of course no one is revolted--they feel pity--and
that is perhaps worse. When I get my leg too, shall I have the nerve to
make love to Alathea and use all the arts which used to be so successful
in the old days?
I believe if I were back in 1914--I should still be as nervous as a cat
when with her--Is this one of the symptoms of love again?
George Harcourt has many maxims upon the subject of love--One is that a
Frenchman thinks most of the methods of love--An Englishman more of the
sensations of love--and an Austrian of the emotions of love--. I wonder
if this is true? He also says that a woman does not really appreciate a
man who reverences her sex in the abstract, and is chivalrous about all
women,--she rather thinks him a simpleton--. What she does appreciate is
a man who holds cynical views about the female sex in general, and shows
reverence and chivalry towards herself in particular!
This I feel is probably the truth--!
I did not expect to hear anything of Alathea on the Monday, she was not
due until Tuesday at eleven o'clock, but when I came in from my sunset
on the terrace, I found two telegrams, all the first one said was--
"Extremely sorry will be unable to come to-morrow, brother
seriously ill.
A. Sharp--."
And no address!
So I could not send sympathy, or even offer any help--I could have sworn
aloud! The storm had wrecked its vengeance on someone, then, and the
poor little chap had probably taken cold.
If I could only be of some use to them--Perhaps getting the best Doctor
is out of their reach. I was full of turmoil while I tore open the other
blue paper--this was from Suzette--.
"I come this evening at eight."
It was nearly seven o'clock now, so I could not put her off--and I am
not sure that I wanted to--Suzette is a human being and kindly, and her
heart is warm.
When Burton was dressing me I told him of Miss Sharp's telegram.
"The poor young lady!" he said--.
Burton always speaks of her as the "young lady"--he never makes a
mistake about class.
Suzette for him is "Mam'zell"--and he speaks of her as a mother might
about her boy's noisy, tiresome rackety school friends--necessary evils
to be put up with for the boy's sake--The fluffies he announces always
by their full titles--"Madame la Comtesse"--etc., etc., with a face of
stone. Nina and the one or two other Englishwomen he is politely
respectful to, but to Miss Sharp he is absolutely reverential--she might
be a Queen!
"I expect the poor little fellow got wet through yesterday," I
hazarded--.
"He's that delicate," Burton remarked.
So Burton knows something more about the family than I do after all--!
"How did you know he was delicate, Burton, or even that Miss Sharp had a
brother?"
"I don't exactly know, Sir Nicholas--it's come out from one time to
another--the young lady don't talk."
"How did you guess, then?"
"I've seen her anxious when I've brought in her tray--sometimes, and
once I ventured to say to her--'I beg pardon Miss, but can I do anything
for you,' and she took off her glasses sudden like--and thanked me, and
said it was her little brother she was worrying about--and you may
believe me or not as you like, Sir Nicholas, but her eyes were full of
tears."
I wonder if Burton guessed the deep emotion he was causing me--My little
darling! with her beautiful blue eyes full of tears, and I impotent to
comfort or help her--!
"Yes--yes?" I said--.
"She told me then that he'd been delicate since birth, and she feared
the winter in Paris for him--I do believe Sir, it's that she works so
hard for, to get him away south."
"Burton--what the devil can we do about it?"
"I don't very well know, Sir Nicholas--Many's the time I've badly wanted
to offer her the peaches and grapes and other things, to take back to
him--but of course I know my place better than to insult a lady--tisn't
like as if she were of another class you see Sir--she'd have grabbed 'em
then, but bein' as she is, she'd have been bound to refuse them, and it
might have tempted her for him and made things awkward."
Burton not only knows the world but has tact--!
He went on, now once started.
"I saw her outside a wine shop once when I got off the tram at
Auteuil--She was looking at the bottles of port--and I made so as to
pass, and her not see me, but she turned and said friendly
like--'Burton, do you suppose this shop would keep really good port--?'
I said as how I would go in and see, and she came with me--They had some
fairly decent--though too young, Sir Nicholas, and it was thirty-five
francs the bottle--I saw she had not an idea it would be as much as
that--her face fell--Do you know, Sir, I could see she hadn't that much
with her,--it was the day before she's paid you see--her colour came and
went--then she said--'I wonder Burton if you could oblige me with paying
the ten extra francs until to-morrow--I must have the best!'--You may
believe me, Sir Nicholas, I got out my purse quick enough--and then she
thanked me so sweet like--'The Doctor has ordered it for my mother,
Burton,' she said--'and of course she couldn't drink any but the best!'"
"Who on earth can she be, Burton? It does worry me--can't you possibly
find out? I would so like to help them."
"I feel that, Sir--but here's the way I figure it--When gentry lives in
foreign towns and don't seem anxious for you to know their address it
don't seem right like to pry into it."
"Burton, you dear old brick!--well supposing we don't try to pry, but
just try how we can possibly help her--You could certainly be
sympathetic about the brother since she has spoken to you--and surely
something can be done--? I saw her at the Duchesse's you know--do you
suppose she knows her--?"
"I do, Sir Nicholas--I never meant to speak of it, but one day Her Grace
came to see you and you were out and she caught sight of Miss Sharp
through the half open door--and she jumped like a cat, Her Grace did,
'Halthee'--she cried out--or some name like that,--and Miss Sharp
started up and went down the stairs with her--She seemed to be kind of
explaining, and I am not sure that Her Grace was too pleased--."
(Burton thinks all Duchesses should be called "Grace" whether they are
French or English.)
"Then we should certainly be able to find out from the Duchesse--."
"Well, I would not be so sure of that Sir Nicholas--You see the Duchesse
is a very kind lady, but she is a lady of the world, and she may have
her reasons."
"Then what do you suggest, Burton?"
"Why, I hardly know--perhaps to wait and see, Sir Nicholas."
"Masterly inactivity!"
"It might be that I could do a bit of finding out if I felt sure no harm
could come of it."
I was not quite certain what Burton meant by this--What possible harm
could come of it?
"Find out all you can and let me know--."
* * * * *
Suzette opened the door and came in just as I finished dressing--Burton
left the room.--She was pouting.
"So the book is not completed, Nicholas?--and the English Mees comes
three times a week--_hein_?"
"Yes--does that upset you?"
"I should say!"
"May I not have a secretary?--You will be objecting to my Aunt coming to
stay with me, or my dining with my friends--next!"