Man and Maid

  VI

  For two days after I last wrote, I tried not to see Miss Sharp--I gaveshort moments to my book--and she answered a number of business letters.She knows most of my affairs now,--Burton transmits all the bills andpapers to her.--I can hear them talking through the thin door. Theexcitement of that time I was so rude seems to have used up my vitality,an utter weariness is upon me, I have hardly stirred from my chair.

  The ancient guardsman, George Harcourt, came to lunch yesterday. He wasas cynically whimsical as ever--He has a new love--an Italian--and untilnow she has refused all his offers of presents, so he is taking atremendous interest in her--.

  "In what an incredible way the minds of women work, Nicholas!" hesaid--"They have frequently a very definite aim underneath, but they'grasshopper'--."

  I looked puzzled I suppose--.

  "To 'grasshopper' is a new verb!" he announced--"Daisy Ryven coinedit.--It means just as you alight upon a subject and begin tackling it,you spring to another one--These lovely American war workers'grasshopper' continuously.--It is impossible to keep pace with them."

  I laughed.

  "Yet they seem to have quite a definite aim--to get pleasure out oflife."

  Alathea (Harriet Hammond) disguised with colored glassesand plain clothes arrives to take up her duties as secretary to SirNicholas (Lew Cody). (A scene from Elinor Glyn's production "Man andMaid" for Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer)]

  "To 'grasshopper' does not prevent pleasure to the grasshopper.--It isonly fatiguing to the listener. You can have no continued sensibleconversation with any of these women--they force you to enjoy only theirskins--"

  "Can the Contessa talk?"

  "She has the languour of the South--She does not jump from one subjectto another, she is frankly only interested in love."

  "Honestly, George--do you believe there is such a thing as real love?"

  "We have discussed this before, Nicholas--You know my views--but I amhoping Violetta will change them. She has just begun to ask daily if Ilove her"--

  "Why do women always do that--even one's little friends continuallymurmur the question?"

  "It is the working of their subconscious minds----Damn good cigarsthese, my dear boy--pre-war eh?----Yes it is to justify theirsurrender--They want to be assured _in words_ that you adorethem--because you see the actions of love really prove nothing of loveitself. A stranger who has happened to appeal to the senses can callthem forth quite as successfully as the lady of one's heart!"

  "It is logical of women then to ask that eternal question?"

  "Quite--I make a point of answering them always without irritation."

  ----I wonder--if Miss Sharp loved anyone would she?----but I amdetermined not to speculate further about her--.

  When Colonel Harcourt had gone--I deliberately rang my bell--and whenshe came into the room I found I was not sure what I had rung for--It isthe most exasperating fact that Miss Sharp keeps me in a continual stateof nervous consciousness.

  Her manner was indifferently expectant, if one can use such aparadoxical description--.

  "I--I--wondered if you played the piano?--"I blurted out.

  She looked surprised--if one can ever say she looks anything, with theexpression of her eyes completely hidden. She answered as usual with oneword--.

  "Yes."

  "I suppose you would not play to me?--er--it might give me aninspiration for the last chapter--"

  She went and opened the lid of the instrument.

  "What sort of music do you like?" she asked.

  "Play whatever you think I would appreciate."

  She began a Fox trot, she played it with unaccountable spirit and taste,so that the sound did not jar me--but the inference hurt a little. Isaid nothing, however. Then she played "Smiles," and the sweetcommonplace air said all sorts of things to me--Desire to live again,and dance, and enjoy foolish pleasures--How could this little iceberg ofa girl put so much devilment into the way she touched the keys? If ithad not been for the interest this problem caused me, the longing thesounds aroused in me to be human again, would have driven me mad.

  No one who can play dance music with that lilt can be as cold as astone--.

  From this she suddenly turned to Debussy--she played a most difficultthing of his--I can't remember its name--then she stopped.

  "Do you like Debussy?" I asked.

  "No, not always."

  "Then why did you play it?"

  "I supposed you would."

  "If you had said in plain words, 'I think you are a rotter who wantsfirst dance music, then an unrestful modern decadent, brilliantly cleverset of disharmonies,' you could not have expressed your opinion of memore plainly."

  She remained silent--I could have boxed her ears.

  I leaned back in my chair, perhaps I gave a short harsh sigh--if a sighcan be harsh--I was conscious that I had made some explosive sound.

  She turned back to the piano again and began "Waterlily" and then"1812"--and the same strange quivering came over me that I experiencedwhen I heard the cooing of the child.--My nerves must be in an awfulrotten state--Then a longing to start up and break something shook me,break the windows, smash the lamp--yell aloud--I started to my oneleg--and the frightful pain of my sudden movement did me good andsteadied me.

  Miss Sharp had left the piano and came over to me--.

  "I am afraid you did not like that," she said--"I am so sorry"--hervoice was not so cold as usual.

  "Yes I did--" I answered--"forgive me for being an awful ass--I--I--lovemusic tremendously, you see--"

  She stood still for a moment--I was balancing myself by the table, mycrutch had fallen. Then she put out her hand.

  "Can I help you to sit down again?"--she suggested.

  And I let her--I wanted to feel her touch--I have never even shakenhands with her before. But when I felt her guiding me to the chair, themaddest desire to seize her came over me--to seize her in my arms totear off those glasses, to kiss those beautiful blue eyes they hid--tohold her fragile scrap of a body tight against my breast, to tell herthat I loved her--and wanted to hold her there, mine and no one else'sin all the world----My God! what am I writing--I must crush thisnonsense--I must be sane--. But--what an emotion! The strongest I haveever felt about a woman in my life--.

  When I was settled in the chair again--things seemed to become blank fora minute and then I heard Miss Sharp's voice with a tone--could it be ofanxiety? in it? saying "Drink this brandy, please." She must have goneto the dining-room and fetched the decanter and glass from the case,and poured it out while I was not noticing events.

  I took it.

  Again I said--"I am awfully sorry I am such an ass."

  "If you are all right now--I ought to go back to my work," sheremarked--.

  I nodded--and she went softly from the room. When I was alone, I usedevery bit of my will to calm myself--I analysed the situation. MissSharp loathes me--I cannot hold her by any means if she decides to go--.The only way I can keep her near me is by continuing to be the coolemployer--And to do this I must see her as little as possible--becausethe profound disturbance she is able to cause in me, reacts upon my rawnerves--and with all the desire in the world to behave like a decent,indifferent man, the physical weakness won't let me do so, and I am sobound to make a consummate fool of myself.

  When I was in the trenches and the shells were coming, and it wasbeastly wet and verminy and uncomfortable, I never felt this feeble,horrible quivering--I know just what funk is--I felt it the day I didthe thing they gave me the V.C. for. This is not exactly funk--I wish Iknew what it was and could crush it out of myself--.

  Oh! if I could only fight again!--that was the best sensation inlife--the zest--the zest!--What is it which prompts us to do decentactions? I cannot remember that I felt any exaltation specially--itjust seemed part of the day's work--but how one slept! How one enjoyedany old thing--!

  Would it be better to end it all and go out quite? But where should Igo?--the _me_ would not be dead.--I am beginning to bel
ieve inreincarnation. Such queer things happened among the fellows--I supposeI'd be born again as ugly of soul as I am now--I must send for somebooks upon the subject and read it up--perhaps that might give meserenity.

  The Duchesse returned yesterday. I shall go and see her this afternoon Ithink,--perhaps she could suggest some definite useful work I coulddo--It is so abominably difficult, not being able to get about. What didshe say?--She said I could pray--I remember--she had not time, shesaid--but the _Bon Dieu_ understood--I wonder if He understands me--? oram I too utterly rotten for Him to bother about?

  * * * * *

  The Duchesse was so pleased to see me--she kissed me on both cheeks--.

  "Nicholas! thou art better!" she said--"As I told you--the war is goingto end well--!"

  "And how is the book?" she asked presently--"It should be finished--I amtold that your work is intermittent--."

  My mind jumped to Maurice as the connecting link--the Duchesse of coursemust have seen him--but I myself have seen very little of Mauricelately--how did he know my work was intermittent--?

  "Maurice told you?" I said.

  "Maurice?"--her once lovely eyes opened wide--she has a habit ofscrewing them up sometimes when she takes off her glasses.--"Do yousuppose I have been on a _partie de plaisir_, my son--that I should haveencountered Maurice--!"

  I dared not ask who was her informant--.

  "Yes, I work for several days in succession, and then I have no ideas.It is a pretty poor performance anyway--and is not likely to find apublisher."

  "You are content with your Secretary?"

  This was said with an air of complete indifference. There was no meaningin it of the kind Madame de Clerte would have instilled into the tone.

  "Yes--she is wonderfully diligent--it is impossible to dislodge her fora moment from her work. She thinks me a poor creature I expect."

  The Duchesse's eyes, half closed now, were watching me keenly--.

  "Why should she think that, Nicholas--you can't after all fight."

  "No----but--."

  "Get well, my boy--and these silly introspective fancies will leaveyou--Self analysis all the time for those who sit still--they imaginethat they matter to the _Bon Dieu_ as much as a _Corps d'Armee_--!"

  "You are right, Duchesse, that is why I said Miss Sharp--mytypist--probably thinks me a poor creature--she gets at my thoughts whenI dictate."

  "You must master your thoughts----"

  And then with a total change of subject she remarked.

  "Thou art not in love, Nicholas?"

  I felt a hot flush rise to my face--What an idiotic thing to do--moresilly than a girl--Again how I resent physical weakness reacting on mynerves.

  "In love!"--I laughed a little angrily--"With whom could I possibly bein love, _chere amie_?! You would not suggest that Odette or Coralie orAlice could cause such an emotion!"

  "Oh! for them perhaps no--they are for the senses of men--they are theexotic flowers of this forcing time--they have their uses--although Imyself abhor them as types--but--is there no one else?"

  "Solonge de Clerte?--Daisy Ryven?--both with husbands--."

  "Not as if that prevented things" the Duchesse announcedreflectively--"Well, well--Some of my _blesses_ show just your symptoms,Nicholas, and I discover almost immediately it is because they are inlove--with the brain--with the imagination you must understand--that isthe only dangerous kind--. When it is with a pretty face alone--a gooddose and a new book helps greatly."

  "There would be no use in my being in love, Duchesse--"

  "It would depend upon the woman--you want sympathy and a guidinghand--_Va!_--"

  Sympathy and a guiding hand!

  "I liked ruling and leading when I was a man--"

  "----We all have our ups and downs--I like my own bed--but last nightan extra batch of _blesses_ came in--and I had to give it up to onewhose back was a mass of festers--he would have lain on the floorelse--. What will you--_hein?_--We have to learn to accommodateourselves to conditions, my son."

  Suddenly the picture of this noble woman's courage came to me vividly,her unvarying resourcefulness--her common sense--her sympathy withhumanity--her cheerfulness--I never heard her complain or repine, evenwhen fate took her only son at Verdun--Such as these are the glory ofFrance--and Coralie and Odette and Alice seemed to melt intonothingness--.

  "The war will be finished this autumn--" she told me presently--"andthen our difficult time will begin--. Quarrels for all the world--Notgood fighting--But you will live to see a Renaissance, Nicholas--and soprepare for it."

  "What can I do, dear friend--If you knew how much I want to dosomething!"

  "Your first duty is to get well.--Have yourself patchedtogether--finished so to speak, and then marry and found a family totake the place of all who have perished. It was good taste when I wasyoung not to have too many--but now!--France wants children--andEngland too. There is a duty for you, Nicholas!"

  I kissed her hand--.

  "If I could find a woman like you!" I cried--"indeed then I wouldworship her--."

  "So--so--! There are hundreds such as I--when I was young I lived asyouth lives--You must not be too critical, Nicholas."

  She was called away then, back to one of the wards, and I hobbled downthe beautiful staircases by myself--the lift was not working. Thedescent was painful and I felt hot and tired when I reached the groundfloor, it was quite dusk then, and the one light had not yet been lit. Aslight wisp of a figure passed along the end of the corridor. I couldnot see plainly, but I could have sworn it was Miss Sharp--I called hername--but no one answered me so I went on out,--the servant, agedninety, now joining me, he assisted me into my one horse Victoria beyondthe concierge's lodge.

  Miss Sharp and the Duchesse!--? Why if this is so have I never been toldabout it?--The very moment Maurice returns I must get him to investigateall about the girl--In the meantime I think I shall go to Versailles--.I cannot stand Paris any longer--and the _masseur_ can come out there,it is not an impossible distance away.