"I hope you did not hurry back to your work--I can't bear to think that
perhaps you would have wished to remain at home now."
"No, it does not matter"--There was an infinite weariness in her
tone--A hopeless flatness I had never heard before, it moved me so that
I blurted out--.
"Oh! I have felt so anxious, and so sorry--I saw you in the _Bois_ two
Sundays ago in the thunder storm, and I tried to get near the path I
thought you would cross to offer you the carriage to return in, but I
missed you--Perhaps your little brother caught cold then?"
There was a sob in her voice--.
"Yes--will you--would you mind if we just did not speak of anything but
began work."
"Forgive me--I only want you to know that I'm so awfully sorry--and Oh,
if there was anything in the world I could do for you--would you not let
me?"
"I appreciate your wish--it is kind of you--but there is nothing--You
were going to begin the last chapter over again--Here is the old one--I
will take off my hat while you look at it," and she handed it to me.
Of course I could not say anything more--I had had a big bunch of
violets put on the table where she types, in Burton's room
adjoining--they were the first forced ones which could be got in
Paris--and I had slipped a card by them with just "my sympathy" on it.
When she came back into the room hatless, her cheeks were bright pink
below the glasses--and all she said was "Thank you" and then I saw a
little streak of wet trickle from under the horn rims. I have never had
such a temptation in my life--to stretch out my arms and cry "Darling
one, let me comfort you, here clasped close to me!"--I longed to touch
her--to express somehow that I felt profoundly for her grief.--
"Miss Sharp--" I did burst out--"I am not saying anything because I know
you don't want me to--but it is not because I do not
feel--I'm--I'm--awfully sorry--May not I perhaps send some roses
to--your home--or, perhaps there is someone there who would like
them--flowers are such jolly things!"--Then I felt the awfully ill
chosen word "jolly" was--but I could not alter it.
I believe that _gaucherie_ on my part helped though a little, her fine
senses understood it was because I was so nervously anxious to offer
comfort--a much kinder note came into her voice--.
"I'll take the violets with me if you will let me," she said--"Please
don't trouble about anything more--and do let us begin work."
So we started upon the Chapter.
Her hands were not so red I noticed. I am becoming sensitive to what is
called "atmosphere" I suppose, for I felt all the currents in the room
were disturbed--that ambience of serenity did not surround Alathea and
keep me unconsciously in awe of her as it always has before--I was aware
that my natural emotions were running riot and that my one eye was
gazing at her with love in it, and that my imagination was conjuring up
scenes of delight with her as a companion. Her want of complete control
allowed the waves to reach her, I expect--for I knew that she was using
all her will to keep her attention upon the work, and that she was
nearly as disturbed as I was myself--.
But how was she disturbed?--was she just nervous from events--or was I
causing her any personal trouble? The moment I felt that perhaps I was,
a feeling of assurance and triumph came over me--! Then I used every bit
of the cunning I possess--I tried to say subtle things--I made her talk
about the ridiculous book, and the utterly unimportant furniture--I made
her express her opinion about styles, and got out of her that a simple
Queen Anne was what she herself preferred.--I _knew_ that she was giving
way and talking with less stiffness because she was weak with sorrow,
and probably had not had much sleep--I _knew_ that it was not because
she had forgotten about the Suzette cheque or really was more friendly.
I _knew_ that I was taking an unfair advantage of her--but I
continued--Men are really brutes after all!--and gloried in my power
every time the slightest indication showed that I possessed it! I lost
some of my diffidence--If I could only have stood upon two feet and seen
with two eyes--I know that even the morning would have ended by my
taking her in my arms, cost what might; but as I was glued to my chair
she was enabled always at this stage to stay out of reach--and fenced
gallantly with me by silence and stiff answers--but by luncheon time
there was a distinct gain on my side--I had made her feel something, I
no longer was a nonentity who did not count--.
Her skin is so transparent that the colour fluctuates with every
emotion. I love to watch it. What a mercy that I had very strong
sight!--for my one eye sees quite clearly.
At luncheon we talked of the time of the Fronde--Alathea is so
wonderfully well read. I make dashes into all sorts of subjects, and
find she knows more of them than I do myself--What a mind she must have
to have acquired all this in her short twenty-three years.
"You are not thinking of leaving Paris, I hope when you move," I said as
we drank coffee. "I am going to begin another book directly this one is
finished."
"It is not yet decided," she answered abruptly.
"I could not write without you."
Silence.
"I would love to think that you took an interest in teaching me how to
be an author--."
The faintest shrug of the shoulders--.
"You don't take any interest?"
"No."
"Are not you very unkind?"--
"No--If you have anything to complain of in my work I will listen
attentively and try and alter it."
"You will never allow the slightest friendship?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Why should I?"
"I must be grateful even that you ask a question, I suppose--Well, I
don't know quite myself why you should--You think I am a rotter--You
despise my character--you think my life is wasted and that--er--I have
undesirable friends."
Silence.
"Miss Sharp! you drive me crazy never answering--I can't think why you
like to be so provoking!" I was stung to exasperation.
"Sir Nicholas," and she put down her cup with displeasure--"If you will
not keep to the subject of work--I am sorry but I cannot stay as your
secretary."
Terror seized me--.
"I shall have to if you insist upon it--I suppose--but I am longing to
be friends with you--and I can't think why you should resent it so--We
are both English, we are both--unhappy--we are both lonely--."