Man and Maid

How mysterious it all is!-I wish I had been able to conceal the fact that I had noticed that the

glasses were off--Another day I would certainly have taken advantage of

this moment and would have tried to make her confess the reason of her

wearing them; but some odd quality in me prevented me from reaping any

advantage from this situation, so I let the chance pass.--Perhaps she

was grateful to me, for she warmed up a little again.

I began to feel that I might write the fool of a book right over from

the 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 in

writing, of method in book making--but had shown an actual knowledge of

the subject of the furniture itself.--How could little Miss Sharp, a

poverty stricken typist, be familiar with William and Mary furniture?

She has obviously not "seen better days," and only taken up a

stenographic business lately, because such proficiency as she shows, not

only in this work but in account keeping and all the duties of a

secretary, 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 has

been in Paris all that time--Even if she had left England in 1914, she

could only have been eighteen or nineteen then, and girls of that age do

not generally take an interest in furniture. This thought kept bothering

me--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 was

saying.

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, but

her 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 did

she rush into questions of method in arranging the chapters, her armour

was on again--she had become cautious, and was probably annoyed with

herself for ever having allowed herself to slip off her guard.

I knew that I could disconcert her, and probably obtain some interesting

admissions from her--and have a thrilling fencing match, but some

instinct warned me not to do so--I might win out for the time being, but

if she has a secret which she does not wish me to discover, she will

take care not again to put herself in a situation where this can happen.

I have the apprehension always hanging, like Damocles' sword, over my

head, of her relinquishing her post. Besides, why should I trouble her

for my own satisfaction?--However, I registered a vow then that I would

find out all I could from Maurice.