Man and Maid

"I don't care, at present I will not."

I frowned but did not speak. This will be discussed between us later.

My fighting spirit is up, she shall obey me!

"Did you order the clothes yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Enough, I hope."

"Yes."

"Well, now, I have a suggestion to make which I am sure will please you,

and that is that you will appoint some meeting place with Mr. Nelson for

Tuesday morning, since you do not trust my good taste far enough even to

let me know your home address. Perhaps at the Hotel de Courville, if the

Duchesse will permit, and that then we do not meet until the seventh of

November at the ceremony. Mr. Nelson will arrange with you all the law

of the thing and what witnesses you must have, and everything, and this

will save these useless discussions, and give you a little breathing

space."

This seemed to subdue her, and she agreed less defiantly.

"And now I will not detain you longer," I said stiffly. "Au revoir

until the seventh of November at whatever hour is arranged, or if we

must meet before at the signing of the contract," and I bowed.

She bowed also, and walked haughtily to the door, and left.

And greatly exhilarated, I decided to go and lunch with Maurice at the

Ritz.

As I came from the lift, Madame Bizot's daughter came out of the

concierge's lodge with her baby, and it was making its same little

cooing, gurgling noises that caused me so to feel that time when Alathea

first began to interest me. I stopped and spoke to the mother, a comely

young woman, and the little creature put out its tiny hand and clasped

one of my fingers, and over me there came a weird thrill. Shall I ever

hear noises like that, and have a son of Alathea's and mine to take my

hand. Well the game of her subjection is interesting enough anyway, and

rather ashamed of my emotion, I went on into the Victoria and was

crawled to the Ritz.

Here I ran into a fellow in the Flying Corps, who told me that Nina's

boy, Johnnie, had been killed the night before, in his first fight with

a Boche plane. I do not know that any of the tragedies of the war have

affected me more. My poor Nina! She really loved her son. I telegraphed

to her at once my fondest sympathies, and the thought of her grief would

not leave me all the way, war-hardened as I am.