Chapter 10

"--At that her tears burst out afresh--She had no glasses on, and she looked no more than sixteen years old, give you my word Sir--She thanked me like as if it was something real kind I'd thought of--I felt sort of ashamed I could not do more--

"Then she seemed to be having a struggle with herself--just as if she'd rather die than take anything from anybody--and yet knew she had to--She turned them, blue eyes on me streamin' with tears, and I had to turn away, Sir Nicholas--I had really.--

"'Burton,' she says--. 'Have you ever felt that you wanted to be dead and done with it all--that you couldn't fight any more?'

--"'I can't say as I have, Miss,' I answered her--'but I know my master feels that way often--' Perhaps she felt kinder, sorry for you too, Sir Nicholas, because as I said that, she gave a sort of extra sharp sob and buried her face in her hands--.

"I slipped out of the room then and brought the tea as quick as I could you may believe me Sir--and by that time she had pulled herself together--'It is stupid to have any proud feelings--if you have to work Burton' she said--'I will be--grateful for the loan of your money--and I am happy to have such a friend' ... and she put out her little bit of a hand--She did, Sir Nicholas--and I never felt so proud in my life--She's just a real lady to her finger tips. She is, Sir--I shook it as gentle as I could, and then was obliged to blow my nose, I felt that blubberish--I left the room at once, and when I come back for the tray, and to bring the money she had her hat on, and the note written for you Sir--I took the violets and began putting them in the box for her to take--but she stopped me--.

"'Violets fade so soon--I will not take them, thanks,' she said--'I have to do some shopping before I go home and I could not carry them.' But I knew it was not that.--She did not want to take them--perhaps she felt she'd given up enough of her pride to take my money--for one day--So I said nothing,--but that I did hope she would be feeling better by the time she came to the _appartement_ on Saturday. She did not speak, she just nodded her head and smiled kind like at me and went."

I could not answer Burton--I too just nodded my head--and the dear old boy left me alone--My very heart seemed bursting with pain and remorse--When he had gone--I seized the letter and opened it.

* * * * *

"To Sir Nicholas Thormonde, Bart, V.C.," (it began, and then)

"Dear Sir:

Circumstances force me to work--so I shall have to remain in your service--if you require me. I am unfortunately quite defenceless, so I appeal to whatever chivalry there is in you not to make it so impossible that I must again give in my resignation.

Yours faithfully, A. Sharp."

* * * * *

I fell back in my chair in an agony of emotion--My darling! My queen!--whose very footprints I worship--to have had to write such a letter--to me!

The unspeakable brute beast I felt! All my cynical calculations about women fell from me--I saw myself as I had been all day--utterly selfish--not really feeling for her grief, only making capital out of it for my own benefit--. At that moment, and for the rest of the day and night, I suffered every shade of self reproach and abasement a man can feel. And next day I had to stay in bed because I had done some stupid thing to my leg in lying down without help.

When I knew I could not get into Paris by Saturday when Alathea was to come to the flat--I sent Burton in with a note to the shop in the Avenue Mosart.

"Dear Miss Sharp--(I wrote)

"I am deeply grateful for your magnanimity. I am utterly ashamed of my weakness--and you will not have called upon my chivalry in vain, I promise you.--I have to stay in bed, so I cannot be at the flat, and if you receive this in time I shall be obliged if you will come out here again on Saturday.

Yours very truly, Nicholas Thormonde."

Then I never slept all night with thoughts of longing and wondering if she would get it soon enough to come.

Over and over in my vision I saw the picture of her sitting there in Burton's room sobbing--My action was the last straw--My shameful action!--Burton showed the good taste and the sympathy and understanding for her which I should have done--. And to think that she is troubled about money, so that she had to take a loan from my dear old servitor--far greater gentleman than I am--. And that I cannot be the least use to her--and may not help her in any way! I can go on no longer in this anguish--as soon as I feel that peace is in the smallest measure restored between us--I will ask her to marry me, just so that I can give her everything. I shall tell her that I expect nothing from her--only the right to help her family and give her prosperity and peace--.

* * * * *

_Sunday:_

I was still in bed on Saturday morning at eleven--the Doctor came out to see me very early and insisted that I be kept quite still until Monday--So Burton had my bed table brought, and all my papers and things--There had come a number of letters to answer, and he had asked me if Miss Sharp could not do them as soon as she arrived.

"Burton, perhaps she'll feel not quite at ease with me alone in here like this. Could you not make some excuse to be tidying drawers and stay while I am dictating," I said.

"Very good, Sir Nicholas."

When he replies with those words I know that he is agreeing--with reservations--.

"Out with what you are thinking, Burton."

"Well, Sir Nicholas"--and he coughed--"Miss Sharp--is that understandin' sh'd know in a minute your things wasn't likely to be in a mess, and that you'd got me there on purpose--It might make her awkward like--."

"You may be right, we will see how things turn out."

Presently I heard Alathea in the sitting-room and Burton went in to see her.

"Sir Nicholas is very poorly to-day, Miss"--I heard him say--"The Doctor won't let him out of bed--I wonder if you'd be so kind as to take down his letters--they are too much for him himself not being able to sit up--and I have not the time."

"Of course I will, Burton," her soft voice answered.

"I've put the table and everything ready--and I thank you kindly--" Burton went on--"I am glad to see you looking better, Miss."

I listened intently--It seemed as if I could hear her taking off her hat--and then she came into the room to me--but by that time my heart was beating so that I could not speak loud.

I said "good morning" in some half voice, and she answered the same--then she came forward to the table. Her dear little face was very pale and there was something pathetic in the droop of her lips--her hands, I noticed, were again not so red--.

"All the letters are there"--and I pointed to the pile--"It will be so good of you if you will do them now."

She took each one up and handed it to me without speaking and I dictated the answer.--I had had one from Suzette that morning thanking me for the villa--but I was clearly under the impression that I had put it with the one from Maurice and one from Daisy Ryven at the other side of the bed, so I had no anxiety about it--Then suddenly I saw Alathea's cheeks flame crimson and her mouth shut with a snap--and I realized that the irony of fate had fallen upon me again, and that she had picked up Suzette's lavender tinted, highly scented missive. She handed it to me without a word--.

The letter ended:

"_Adieu Nicholas! tu es, Toujours Mon Adoré Ta Suzette._"

but the way it was folded only showed "_Toujours Mon Adoré--Ta Suzette_"--and this much Alathea had certainly seen--.

I felt as if there was some evil imp laughing in the room--There was nothing to be said or done. I could not curse aloud--so I simply took the letter, put it with Daisy Ryven's--and indicated that I was waiting for the next one to be handed to me--So Alathea continued her work.--But could anything be more maddening--more damnably provoking!--and inopportune--Why must the shadow of Suzette fall upon me all the time?--

This of course will make any renewal of even the coldest friendliness impossible, between my little girl and me--. I cannot ask her to marry me now, and perhaps not for a long time, if ever the chance comes to me again, in any case. Her attitude, carriage of head, and expression of mouth, showed contempt, as she finished the short-hand notes. And then she rose and went into the other room to type, closing the door after her.

And I lay there shivering with rage and chagrin.

I saw no more of Alathea that morning--She had her lunch in the sitting-room alone, and Burton brought the dishes in to me, and after luncheon he insisted that I should sleep for an hour until half-past two o'clock. He had some accounts for Miss Sharp to do, he said.

I was so exhausted that when I did fall asleep I slept until nearly four--and awoke with a start and an agony of apprehension that she might have gone--but no--Burton said she was still there when I rang for him--and I asked her to come in again--.

We went over one of the earlier chapters in the book and I made some alterations in it; she never showed the slightest interest, nor did she speak--; she merely took down what I told her to--.

"Do you think that will do now?" I asked when it was complete.

"Yes."

Tea came in then for us both.--She poured it out, still without uttering a word--she remembered my taste of no sugar or milk, and put the cup near me so that I could reach it. She handed me the plate of those nasty make-believe biscuits, which is all we can get now--then she drank her own tea.

The atmosphere had grown so tense it was supremely uncomfortable. I felt that I must break the ice.

"How I wish there was a piano here," I remarked _à propos_ of nothing--and of course she greeted this, with her usual silence.

"I am feeling so rotten if I could hear some music it would make me better."

She made the faintest movement with her head, to show me I suppose that she was listening respectfully, but saw no occasion to reply.

I felt so unspeakably wretched and helpless and useless lying there, I had not the pluck to go on trying to talk, so I closed my eye and lay still, and then I heard Alathea rise and softly go towards the door--.

"I will type this at home--and return it to the flat on Tuesday if that will be all right," she said--and: I answered:

"Thank you" and turned my face to the wall--And after a little, when she had gone, Burton came in and gave me the medicine the Doctor had told him to give me, he said--but I have a strong suspicion it was simply asperine, for then I fell into a dreamy sleep and forgot my aching body and my troubled mind.

And now I am much better in health again--and am back in Paris and to-night Maurice, up from Deauville at last, is coming to dine with me.

But what is the good of it all?

XV

I was awfully glad to see old Maurice again--he was looking brown and less dilettante--though his socks and tie and eyes matched as well as ever! He congratulated me on the improvement in health in myself too, and then he gave me all the news--.

Odette has been "painting the lily," and used some new skin tightener which has disfigured her for the moment, and she has retired to the family place near Bordeaux to weep until her complexion is restored again--.

"Very unfortunate for her," Maurice said--"because she had nearly secured a roving English peer who had enjoyed 'cushy' jobs during the war, and had been recruiting from the fatigues of red-taping at Deauville--and now, with this whisper of a spoiled skin, he had transferred his attentions to Coralie--and there was trouble among the graces!"--Alice's plaintiveness had actually caught a very rich neutral who was forwarding philanthropic schemes for great ladies--and she hoped soon to wed.

Coralie seemed in the most secure and happy case, since she is already established, and can enjoy herself without anxiety.--Maurice hinted that but for her _béguin_ for me, she could land the English peer, and divorce poor René--her docile war husband--and become an English Countess!

"Thou hast upset everything, Nicholas. Duquesnois is desolated--Coralie changed directly she saw you here--he says--and then to divert herself and forget you, took Lord Brockelbank from Odette!"

"_Vieux coquin! Va!_" and Maurice patted me on the back--.

They were enchanted with my presents to them lately, he added, and were all longing to return to Paris soon and thank me.

The war was simply growing into a nuisance and the quicker it was over the better for everyone.(!)

Then he beat about the bush for a little longer and at last began to grow nearer the vital subject!--

He had seen some of my Mont Aubin relations--fortunately for me, they have been far from Paris in this last year--and they had anxiously asked him if I thought of marrying?--What in fact _was_ I doing with myself now that my wounds were healing?

I laughed--.

"I am so glad my mother was an only child and they are none of them near enough to have the right to bore me--they had better continue their good works at Biarritz--I am told my cousin Marguerite's convalescent home is a marvel! I have sent her frequent donations."

Then Maurice plunged in--.

"You are not--becoming entangled in any way with your secretary, are you _Mon ami_?" he asked.

I had decided beforehand that I would not get angry at anything he said--so I was ready for this.

"No, Maurice--" and I poured out a second glass of port for him--Burton had left us alone by now--. "Miss Sharp does not know that I exist--she is simply here to do her work, and is the best secretary any man could want--I knew Coralie would infect you with some silly idea."

Maurice sipped his port.--"Coralie said that in spite of the girl's glasses there was some air of distinction about her--as she walked on--and that she _knew_ and _felt_ you were interested."

I remained undisturbed.

"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--?

I wish to God I knew.

She will never marry me unless I give my word of honour that the thing will only be an empty ceremony--of that I feel sure even if circumstances aid me to force her into doing this much. And then one has to keep one's word of honour. And might not that be a greater hell than I am now in of suffering?

Perhaps I had better go to the sea--like Suzette--and try to break the whole chain and forget her--.

I rang the bell for Burton then, and told him of my new plan, as he put me to bed. We would go off to St. Malo,--for a week, and I gave orders that he should make the necessary arrangements to get permits. To travel anywhere now is no end of a difficulty.

I wrote to Alathea without weakening--I asked her to collect the Mss. and make notes of what she thought still should be altered--during my absence--I wrote as stiffly, and in as business like a manner as possible--and finally I went to sleep, and slept better than I have done for some time.

* * * * *

_St. Malo:_

How quaint these places are! I am at this deserted corner by the sea--where the hotel is comfortable, and hardly touched by the war--I am not happy--the air is doing me good, that is all--I have brought books--I am not trying to write--I just read and endeavor to sleep--and the hours pass. I tell myself continually that I am no more interested in Alathea--that I am going to get well, and go back to England--that I have emerged, and am a man with a free will once more--and I am a great deal better--.

After all, how absurd to be thinking of a woman, from morning to night!

When I get my new leg, and everything is all healed, up in a year or two, shall I be able to ride again?--Of course I shall, no doubt, and even play a little tennis?--I can shoot anyway--if we will be allowed to preserve partridges and pheasants when the war is over in England.

Yes, of course life is a gorgeous thing--I like the fierce wind to blow in my face--and yesterday, much to Burton's displeasure, I went out sailing--.

How could I be such a fool, he inferred--as to chance a wrench putting me back some months again--But one has to chance things occasionally. I never enjoyed a sail more because of this very knowledge.

* * * * *

A week has passed since we came to this end of the earth--and again I have grown restless--perhaps it is because Burton came in just now with a letter in his hand--. I recognized immediately Alathea's writing.

"I made so bold as to leave the young lady our address before we left, Sir Nicholas, in case she wanted to communicate with us, and she writes now to say, would I be good enough to ask you if you took with you Chapter Seven, because she cannot find it anywhere."