"I am, immensely interested--I want to know who she really is. She is a
lady--even a lady of our world.--I mean she knows about things in
England--where she has never been--that she could not possibly know
unless her family had spoken of them always. She has that unconscious
air of familiarity and ease with subjects which would surprise you.
Can't you find anything out for me, old boy, as to who she is?"
"I will certainly try--Sharp?--it is not a name of the great
world--no--?"
"Of course that is not her real name--"
"Why not ask her yourself, _Mon brave_!"
"I'd like to find a man with pluck enough to ask her anything she did
not wish him to!"
"That little girl!--but she appeared meek and plain, and respectable,
Nicholas--You intrigue me!"
"Well, put your wits to work Maurice, and promise me you will not talk
to the others about anything. I shall be very angry if you do."
He gave me every assurance he would be silent as the grave--and then he
changed the topic to that of Suzette--He was sorry I had given her her
congé, because I would find it hard to replace her--Those so honest and
really not too rapacious, were very difficult to find--Since he had
heard that Suzette was no longer my little friend, he had been looking
out for me, but as yet had seen nothing suitable!!
"You need not trouble, Maurice," I told him, "I am absolutely finished
with that part of my life--I loathe the whole idea of it now--."
Maurice inspected me with grave concern--.
"My dear chap--this appears serious--You are not _in love_ with your
secretary are you?--or is it possible that you are bluffing, and that
she has replaced Suzette, and you wish tranquility about the subject?"
I felt a hot flush mounting to my forehead--The very thought of my
adored little girl in the category of Suzette!--I could have struck my
old friend--but I had just sense enough to reason things. Maurice was
only speaking as any of the Paris world would speak. A secretary, whom a
man was obviously interested in, was certainly not out of the running
for the post of "_Maitresse-en-titre!_"
He meant no personal disrespect to Alathea. For him women were either of
the world or they were not!--True, there was an intermediate class "_Les
braves gens_"--_Bourgeoises_--servants, typists, etc., etc.--But one
could only be interested in one of these for one reason. That is how
things appeared to Maurice. I knew his views; perhaps I had shared them
in some measure in my unregenerate days.
"Look here Maurice--I want you to understand--that Miss Sharp is a lady
in every way--I have already told you this but you don't seem to have
grasped it--and that she has my greatest respect--and it makes me sick
to think of anyone talking of her as you have just done. Although I know
you did not mean anything low, you old owl!--She treats me as though I
were a tiresome, elderly employer--whom she must give obedience to, but
is not obliged to converse with. She would not permit the slightest
friendship or familiarity from any man she worked for."
"Your interest is then serious, Nicholas?"
Maurice was absolutely aghast!
"My _respect_ is serious--my curiosity is hot--and I want
information."----
Maurice tried to feel relieved--.
"Supposing financial disaster fell upon your family, old boy--would you
consider your sister less of a lady because she had to earn bread for
you all by being a typist!"
"Of course not--but it would be very dreadful!--Marie!--Oh! I could not
think of it!"
"Then try to get the idea into your thick head that Miss Sharp is
Marie--and behave accordingly--That is how I look at her."
Maurice promised that he would, and our talk turned to the Duchesse--he
had seen her at a cross country station as he came up, and she would be
back in Paris the following week--This thought gave me comfort. Everyone
would be back by the fifteenth of October he assured me, and then we
could all amuse ourselves again--.
"You will be quite well enough to dine out, Nicholas--Or if not you must
move to the Ritz with me, so that you at least have entertainment on the
spot, _Mon cher_!"
We spoke then of the book--Furniture was a really refined and
interesting subject for me to be delving into. Maurice longed to read
the proofs, he averred.
When he had left me, I lay back in my chair and asked myself what had
happened to me?--that Maurice and all that lot seemed such miles and
miles away from me--as miles and miles as they would have seemed in
their triviality, when we used to discuss important questions in "Pop"
at Eton.
How I must have sunk in the years which followed those dear old days,
ever even to have found divertisement among the people like Maurice and
the fluffies. Surely even a one-eyed and one-legged man ought to be able
to do something for his country politically, it suddenly seemed to
me--and what a glorious picture to gaze at!--If I could some day go into
Parliament, and have Alathea beside me, to give me inspiration and help
me to the best in myself. How her poise would tell in English political
society! How her brain and her power of exercising her critical
faculties! Apart from the fact that I love every inch of her wisp of a
body--What an asset that mind would be to any man!--And I dreamed and
dreamed in the firelight--things all filled with sentiment and
exaltation, which of course no fellow could ever say aloud, or let
anyone know of--A journal is certainly an immense comfort, and I do not
believe I could have gone through this hideous year of my life without
it.
How I would love to have Alathea for my wife--and have children--It
can't be possible that I have written that! I loathe children in the
abstract--they bore me to death--Even Solonge de Clerté's two
entertaining angels--but to have a son--with Alathea's eyes----God! how
the thought makes me feel!--How I would like to sit and talk with her of
how we should bring him up--I reached out my hand and picked up a volume
of Charles Lamb and read "Dream Children"--and as I finished I felt that
idiotic choky sensation which I have only begun to know since something
in me has been awakened by Alathea--or since my nerves have been on the
rack--I don't remember ever feeling much touched, or weak, or silly,
before the war--.
And now what have I to face--?
A will, stronger, or as strong as my own--A prejudice of the deepest
which I cannot explain away--A knowledge that I have no power to retain
the thing I love--No guerdon to hold out to her mentally or
physically--Nothing but the material thing of money--which because of
her great unselfishness and desire to benefit her loved ones, she might
be forced to consider. My only possibility of obtaining her at all is to
buy her with money. And when once bought,--when I had her here in my
house,--would I have the strength to resist the temptation to take
advantage of the situation?--Could I go on day after day never touching
her,--never having any joys?--until the greatness of my love somehow
melted her dislike and contempt of me--?