Man and Maid

This morning I feel as if I could hardly bear it until Miss Sharp

arrives--I dressed early, ready to begin a new chapter although I have

not an idea in my head, and, as the time grows nearer, it is difficult

for me to remain still here in my chair.

Have I been too impossible?--Will she not turn up?--and if she does not,

what steps can I take to find her?--Maurice is at Deauville with the

rest, and I do not know Miss Sharp's home address--nor if she has a

telephone--probably not. My heart beats--I have every feeling of

excitement as stupid as a woman! I analyse it all now, how mental

emotion reacts on the physical--even the empty socket of my eye aches--I

could hardly control my voice when Burton began a conversation about my

orders for the day just now.

"You would not be wishin' for the company of your Aunt Emmeline, Sir

Nicholas"?--he asked me--.

"Of course not, Burton, you old fool--"

"You seem so much more restless, sir--lately--"

"I am restless--please leave me alone."

He coughed and retired.

Now I am listening again--it wants two minutes to the hour--she is never

late.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten--. It feels as

if the blood would burst the veins--I cannot write.

She came after all, only ten minutes beyond her usual time, but they

seemed an eternity when I heard the ring and Burton's slow step. I could

have bounded from my chair to open the door myself.--It was a telegram!

How this always happens when one is expecting anyone with desperate

anxiety--A telegram from Suzette.

"I shall return to-night, Mon Chou."

Her cabbage!--Bah! I never want to see her again--.

Miss Sharp must have entered when the door was opened for the telegram,

for I had begun to feel pretty low again when I heard her knock at the

door of the sitting-room.

She came in and up to my chair as usual--but she did not say her

accustomary cold good morning. I looked up--the horn spectacles were

over her eyes again, and the rest of her face was very pale--while there

was something haughty in the carriage of her small head, it seemed to

me. Her eternal pad and pencil were in her little thin, red hands.

"Good morning"--I said tentatively, she made a slight inclination as

much as to say--"I recognize you have spoken," then she waited for me to

continue.

I felt an egregious ass, I knew I was nervous as a bird, I could not

think of anything to say--I, Nicholas Thormonde, accustomed to any old

thing! nervous of a little secretary!