Man and Maid

"I shall expect nothing more; your sense of the fitness of things will

suggest to you not to make either of us look ridiculous in public by

your being over disagreeable to me, we shall carry on with a semblance

of mutual respect, I hope."

She bowed.

The temptation to burst out and tell her of my feelings was

extraordinary. I absolutely trembled with the control it required not to

rise from my chair and go and take her hands; but I restrained every

sign and appeared as indifferent as she is. The Duchesse came back in a

few moments and I said I would go.

I did not even then shake hands with Alathea, and the Duchesse came out

into the passage with me, to see me safe into the lift, she is always so

kind to anything crippled.

"Nicholas," she whispered, "Her manner to you is very cruel, but do not

be discouraged!--I feel that it is more promising than if she were kind.

She has also had a dreadful time with the father, who has now been

transferred to the poste in the desert in Africa. One must hope for

good, and her poor mother is going off to Hyères with little Hilda and

their faithful old maid, the only servant they had, so after the wedding

you will have your bride all to yourself!"

"Perhaps the thought of that is what is making her so reluctant and icy

to-day!"

The Duchesse laughed as she handed me my crutch and closed the lift

door. "Time will tell, my son!" and she waved her hand as I disappeared

below.

And now I am alone before the crackling fire in my sitting-room,--and I

wonder how many men have spent the eve of their marriages in so quiet a

manner? I feel no excitement even. I have re-read this journal, it is a

pretty poor literary effort, but it does chronicle my emotions, and the

gradual growing influence Alathea has been exercising upon me. By

putting down what happens between us each day like this, I can then

review progress once a week, and can take stock of little shades which

would not be remembered otherwise.

* * * * *

At that moment the telephone rang, and George Harcourt asked if he might

come round and smoke a cigar.

"Your pre-war ones are so good, Nicholas," he said. He was in at the

Ritz, from Versailles, for the night.

I answered "Yes." I like to talk to old George, I don't know why I call

him old always, he is forty-eight perhaps, and absolutely well

preserved, and women love him passionately, more perhaps than when he

was young.