Man and Maid

----I wonder--if Miss Sharp loved anyone would she?----but I am

determined not to speculate further about her--.

When Colonel Harcourt had gone--I deliberately rang my bell--and when

she came into the room I found I was not sure what I had rung for--It is

the most exasperating fact that Miss Sharp keeps me in a continual state

of nervous consciousness.

Her manner was indifferently expectant, if one can use such a

paradoxical description--.

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

She looked surprised--if one can ever say she looks anything, with the

expression of her eyes completely hidden. She answered as usual with one

word--.

"Yes."

"I suppose you would not play to me?--er--it might give me an

inspiration 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. I

said nothing, however. Then she played "Smiles," and the sweet

commonplace air said all sorts of things to me--Desire to live again,

and dance, and enjoy foolish pleasures--How could this little iceberg of

a girl put so much devilment into the way she touched the keys? If it

had not been for the interest this problem caused me, the longing the

sounds 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 a

stone--.

From this she suddenly turned to Debussy--she played a most difficult

thing 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 wants

first dance music, then an unrestful modern decadent, brilliantly clever

set of disharmonies,' you could not have expressed your opinion of me

more 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 sigh

can 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 experienced

when I heard the cooing of the child.--My nerves must be in an awful

rotten state--Then a longing to start up and break something shook me,

break the windows, smash the lamp--yell aloud--I started to my one

leg--and the frightful pain of my sudden movement did me good and

steadied me.