IX
_Saturday Morning:_
Yesterday I was so restless I could not settle to anything. I read pagesand pages of Plato and was conscious that the words were going over inmy head without conveying the slightest meaning, and that the other partof my mind was absorbed with thoughts of Miss Sharp--. If I only daredto be natural with her we surely could be friends, but I am alwaysobsessed with the fear that she will leave me if I transgress in theslightest beyond the line she has marked between us--. I see that she isdetermined to remain only the secretary, and I realize that it is herbreeding which makes her act as she does--. If she were familiar orfriendly with me, she would feel it was not correct to come to my flatalone--She only comes at all because the money is so necessary toher--and having to come, she protects her dignity by wearing this icemask.--I know that she was affronted by Coralie's look on Thursday, andthat is why she went home pretending the typing machine was out oforder--Now if any more of these _contretemps_ happen she will probablygive me warning. Burton instinctively sensed this, and that is why hedisapproved of my asking her to lunch--If she had been an ordinarytypist Burton would not have objected in the least,--as I said before,Burton knows the world!
Now what is to be done next?--I would like to go and confide in theDuchesse, and tell her that I believe I have fallen in love with mysecretary, who won't look at me, and ask her advice--but that I fearwith all her broad-minded charity, her class prejudice is too strong tomake her really sympathetic. Her French mind of the _Ancien Regime_could not contemplate a Thormonde--son of Anne de Mont-Anbin--falling inlove with an insignificant Miss Sharp who brings bandages to theCourville hospital!
These thoughts tormented me so all yesterday that I was quite feverishby the evening--and Burton wore an air of thorough disapproval. A rainshower came on too, and I could not go up on the terrace for the sunset.
I would like to have taken asperines and gone to sleep, when nightcame--but I resisted the temptation, telling myself that to-morrow shewould come again.
I am dawdling over this last chapter on purpose--and I have re-read theformer ones and decided to rewrite one or two, but at best I cannotspread this out over more than six weeks, I fear, and then what excusecan I have for keeping her? I feel that she would not stay just toanswer a few letters a day, and do the accounts and pay the bills withBurton. I feel more desperately miserable than I have felt since lastyear--And I suppose that according to her theory, I have to learn alesson. It seems if I search, as she said one must do without vanity,that the lesson is to conquer emotion, and be serene when everythingwhich I desire is out of reach.
* * * * *
_Saturday Night:_
To-day has been one of utter disaster and it began fairly well. MissSharp turned up at eleven as I shut my journal. I had sent to thestation to meet her this time--She brought all the work she had takenaway with her on Thursday, quite in order--and her face wore the usualmask. I wonder if I had not ever seen her without her glasses if Ishould have realized now that she is very pretty--I can see herprettiness even with them on--her nose is so exquisitely fine, and themouth a Cupid's bow really--if one can imagine a Cupid's bow very firm.I am sure if she were dressed as Odette, or Alice, or Coralie, she wouldbe lovely. This morning when she first came I began thinking of this andof how I should like to give her better things than any of the fluffieshave ever had--how I would like her to have some sapphire bangles forthose little wrists and a great string of pearls round that littlethroat--my mother's pearls--and perhaps big pearls in those shellears--And how I would like to take her hair down and brush it out, andlet it curl as it wanted to--and then bury my face in it--those stifftwists must take heaps of hair to make.--But why am I writing all thiswhen the reality is further off than ever, and indeed has become animpossibility I fear.
We worked in the sitting-room--it was a cloudy day--and presently, afterI had been dreaming on in this way, I asked her to read over theearlier chapters of the book.--She did--.
"Now what do you think of the thing as a whole?" I asked her.
She was silent for a moment as though trying not to have to answerdirectly, then that weird constitutional honesty seemed to force out thewords.
"It perhaps tells what that furniture is."
"You feel it is awful rot?"
"No--."
"What then?"
"It depends if you mean to publish it?"
I leaned back and laughed--bitterly! the realization that she understoodso completely that it was only a "_soulagement_"--an "asperine" for me,so to speak as the Duchesse said--cut in like a knife. I had theexasperated feeling that I was just being pandered to, humored byeveryone, because I was wounded. I was an object of pity, and even mypaid typist--but I can't write about it.
Miss Sharp started from her chair, her fine nostrils were quivering, andher mouth had an expression I could not place.
"Indeed, it is not bad," she said--"You misunderstand me--."
I knew now that she was angry with herself for having hurt me--and thatI could have made capital out of this, but something in me would not letme do that.
"Oh--it is all right--" I replied, but perhaps my voice may have beenflat and discouraged--for she went on so kindly.
"You know a great deal about the subject of course--but I feel thechapters want condensing--May I tell you just where?"
I felt that the thing did not interest me any more, one way or another,it was just a ridiculous non-essential--. I saw it all in a newperspective--but I was glad she seemed kindly--though for a moment eventhat appeared of less importance. Something seemed to have numbed me.What, what could be the good of anything?--the meaning of anything?--Iunconsciously put my head back against the cushion of my chair inweariness--I felt the soft silk and shut my eye for a moment.
When Miss Sharp spoke again, her voice was full of sympathy--and was itremorse--?
"I would like to help you to take interest in it--again--won't you letme?" she pleaded.
I was grateful that she did not say she was sorry she had hurt me--thatI could not have stood--.
I opened my eye now and looked at her, she was bending nearer to me, butI felt nothing particular, only a desire to go to sleep and have donewith it all. It was as if the fabric of my make-believe had been rentasunder.
"It is very good of you," I answered politely--"Yes--say what youthink."
Her tact is immense--she plunged straight into the subject withoutfurther imputation of sympathy,--her voice, full of inflections ofinterest and friendliness, her constrained self-control laid aside forthe time. She spoke so intelligently, showing trained criticalfaculties--and at last my numbness began gradually to melt, and I couldnot help some return of sensation. There may have been soothing syrup inthe fact that she must have been interested in the work, or she couldnot have dissected it chapter by chapter, point by point, as she wasdoing.
She grew animated as we discussed things, and once unconsciously tookoff her glasses--It was like the sun coming out after days of stormclouds--her beautiful, beautiful blue eyes!--My "heart gave a bound"--(Ibelieve that is the way to express what I mean!)--I felt a strangeemotion of excitement and pleasure--I had not time to control myadmiration, I expect,--for she took fright and instantly replaced them,a bright flush in her cheeks--and went on talking in a more reservedway--Alas!--
Of course then I realized that she does not wear the glasses for anyreason of softening light or of defective sight, but simply to hidethose blue stars and make herself unattractive--.
How mysterious it all is!--
I wish I had been able to conceal the fact that I had noticed that theglasses were off--Another day I would certainly have taken advantage ofthis moment and would have tried to make her confess the reason of herwearing them; but some odd quality in me prevented me from reaping anyadvantage from this situation, so I let the chance pass.--Perhaps shewas grateful to me, for she warmed up a little again.
I began to feel that I might write the f
ool of a book right over fromthe beginning--and suggested to her that we should take it in detail.
She acquiesced--.
Then it suddenly struck me that she had not only spoken of style inwriting, of method in book making--but had shown an actual knowledge ofthe subject of the furniture itself.--How could little Miss Sharp, apoverty stricken typist, be familiar with William and Mary furniture?She has obviously not "seen better days," and only taken up astenographic business lately, because such proficiency as she shows, notonly in this work but in account keeping and all the duties of asecretary, must have required a steady professional training.
Could she have studied in Museums?
But the war has been on for four years and I had gathered that she hasbeen in Paris all that time--Even if she had left England in 1914, shecould only have been eighteen or nineteen then, and girls of that age donot generally take an interest in furniture. This thought kept botheringme--and I was silent for some moments. I was weighing things up.
Her voice interrupted my thoughts.
"The Braxted chair has the first of the knotted fringes known"--it wassaying.
I had spoken of the Braxted chair--but had not recorded this fact--.
How the devil could she have known about it?
"Where did you find that?"
"I knew someone who had seen it--" she answered in the same voice, buther cheeks grew pinker--.
"You have never seen it yourself?"
"No--I have never been in England--."
"----Never been in England?"
I was stupefied.
She went on hurriedly--I was going to write feverishly,--so quickly didshe rush into questions of method in arranging the chapters, her armourwas on again--she had become cautious, and was probably annoyed withherself for ever having allowed herself to slip off her guard.
I knew that I could disconcert her, and probably obtain some interestingadmissions from her--and have a thrilling fencing match, but someinstinct warned me not to do so--I might win out for the time being, butif she has a secret which she does not wish me to discover, she willtake care not again to put herself in a situation where this can happen.I have the apprehension always hanging, like Damocles' sword, over myhead, of her relinquishing her post. Besides, why should I trouble herfor my own satisfaction?--However, I registered a vow then that I wouldfind out all I could from Maurice.
The inference of everything she says, does and unconsciously infers, isthat she is a cultivated lady, accustomed to talking with people of ourworld--people who know England and its great houses well enough to havemade her familiar with the knowledge of where certain pieces of famousfurniture are.--The very phrasing of her sentences is the phrasing ofour Shibboleth, and not the phrasing of the professional classes.
And yet--she is meanly dressed--does housework--and for years must havebeen trained in professional business methods. It is profoundlyinteresting.
I have never even questioned Maurice as to how he heard of her.
Well, I write all this down calmly, the record of the morning, to letmyself look back on it, and to where the new intimacy might have led us,but for the sickening end to the day.
Burton did not question her lunching with me this time--he had given theorder as a matter of course--He is very fine in his distinctions, andunderstood that to make any change after she once had eaten with mewould be invidious.
By the time the waiters came in to lay the table, that sense of hurt,and then of numbness, had worn off--I was quite interested again in thework, and intensely intrigued about the possible history of the Sharpfamily!
I was using cunning, too, and displaying casual indifference, sowatchfulness was allowed to rest a little with the strange girl.
"I believe if you will give me your help I shall be able to make quitea decent book of it after all,--but does it not seem absurd to troubleabout such thing's as furniture with the world in ruins and Empirestottering!"--I remarked while the ark-relic handed the omelette--.
"All that is only temporary--presently people will be glad to take upcivilized interests again."
"You never had any doubt as to how the war would end?"
"Never."
"Why?"
"Because I believe in the gallantry of France, and the tenacity ofEngland, and the--youth of America."
"And what of Germany?"
"The vulgarity."
This was quite a new reason for Germany's certain downfall--! Itdelighted me--.
"But vulgarity does not mean weakness!"
"Yes it does--Vulgar people have imperfect sensibilities, and cannotjudge of the psychology of others, they appraise everything by their ownstandard--and so cannot calculate correctly possible contingencies--thatshows weakness."
"How wise you are--and how you think!"
She was silent.
"All the fighting nations will be filled with vulgarians even when we dowin, though with most of the decent people killed--" I ventured tosay--.
"Oh! no--Lots of their souls are not vulgar, only their environment hascaused their outward self-expression to seem so. Once you get below thepompous _bourgeoisie_ in France, for instance, the more delightful youfind the spirit, and I expect it is the same in England. It is thepretentious aspiring would-bes who are vulgar--and Germany seems filledwith them,"
"You know it well?"
"Yes, pretty well."
"If it is not a frightfully impertinent question--how old are youreally, Miss Sharp--?" I felt that she could not be only twenty-threeafter this conversation.
She smiled--the second smile I have seen--.
"On the twentieth of October I shall be twenty-four."
"Where on earth did you learn all your philosophy of life in the time!"
"It is life which teaches us everything--if we are not halfasleep--especially if it is difficult--."
"And the stupid people are like me--not liking to learn any lessons andkicking against the pricks--.",
"Yes--."
"I would try to learn anything you would teach me though, Miss Sharp."
"Why?"
"Because I have confidence in you"--I did not add--because I loved hervoice and respected her character and----.
"Thank you"--she said.
"Will you teach me?"
"What?"
"How not to be a rotter--."
"A man knows that himself--."
"How to learn serenity then?"
"That would be difficult."
"Am I so impossible?"
"I cannot say--but."
"But--what?"
"One would have to begin from the beginning--."
"Well?"
"And I have not time--."
I looked at her as she said this--there was in the tone a faint echo ofregret, so I wanted to see the expression of her mouth--It told menothing.
I could not get anything further out of her, because the waiters came inand out after this rather frequently, changing the courses--and so I didnot have any success.
After lunch I suggested as it had cleared up that we should go at leastas far as the parterre, and sit under the shadow of the terrace--theflower beds are full of beans now--their ancient glories departed. MissSharp followed my bath chair,--and with extreme diligence kept me to there-arranging of the first chapter. For an hour I watched her darlingsmall face whenever I could. A sense of peace was upon me. We werecertainly on the first rung of the ladder of friendship--andpresently--presently--If only I could keep from annoying her in any way!
When we had finished our task she rose--.
"If you don't mind, as it is Saturday I have promised Burton"--and shelooked at him, seated on a chair beyond earshot enjoying the sun--"to doup the accounts and prepare the cheques for you to sign--. So I will goin now and begin."
I wanted to say "Damn the accounts"--but I let her go--I must play thetortoise in this game, not the hare. She smiled faintly--the thirdsmile--as she made me a little bow, and walked off.
After a few paces she
came back again.
"May I ask Burton for the bread ticket I lent you on Thursday," shesaid--"No one can afford to be generous with them now, can they!"
I was delighted at this. I would have been delighted at anything whichkept her with me an extra minute.
I watched her as she disappeared down towards the Reservoirs withlonging eyes, then I must have dozed for a while, because it was aquarter to five when I got back to my sitting-room.
And when I was safely in my chair there was a knock on the door, and inshe came--with a cheque-book in her hand. Before I opened it or eventook it up I knew something had happened which had changed her again.
Her manner had its old icy respect as of a person employed, all thefriendliness which had been growing in the last two or three days hadcompletely departed. I could not imagine why--.
She put the cheque-book open, and handed me a pen to sign with, and thenI signed the dozen that she had filled in, and tore them off as I didso. She was silent, and when I had finished she took them, sayingcasually that she would bring the corrected chapter typed again onTuesday, and was now going to catch her train--and before I could reply,she had gone into the other room--.
A frightful sense of depression fell upon me--What could it possiblybe--?
Idly I picked up the cheque-book--and absently fingered the leaves--thenmy eye caught a counterfoil where I had chanced to open it. It was notin Miss Sharp's handwriting, although this was the house cheque-bookwhich Burton usually keeps, but in my own and there was written, justcasually as I scribble in my private account.--"For Suzette 5000 francs"and the date of last Saturday--and on turning the page there was thefurther one of "For Suzette 3000 francs" and the date of Monday!!
The irony of fate!--I had picked this cheque-book up inadvertently Isuppose on these two days instead of my own.