Man and Maid

Now what do I get out of the iciness over Suzette's cheque?

Two possibilities--.

One--that she is more prudish than one of her literary cultivation, and

worldly knowledge is likely to be, so that she strongly disapproves of

a man having a "petite amie"--or-Two--that she has sensed that I love her and was affronted at the

discovery that at the same time I had a--friend?-The second possibility gives me hope, and so I fear to entertain a

belief in it--but taken coldly it seems the most likely.--Now if she had

not been affronted at this stage, would she have gone on believing I

loved her, and so eventually have shown some reciprocity?

It is just possible--.

And as it is, will that same instinct which is in the subconscious mind

of all women--and men too for the matter of that--which makes them want

to fight to retain or retake what was theirs, influence her now

unconsciously to feel some, even contemptuous, interest in me? This also

is possible--.

If only fate brings her to me again--. That is where one is done--when

absence cuts threads.

To-morrow it will be Monday--a whole week since I received her telegram.

I shall go up to Paris in the morning if I hear nothing and go myself to

the Hotel de Courville to try and obtain a trace of her--if that is

impossible I will write to the Duchesse.-

* * * * *

Reservoirs--Night:

As I wrote the last words--a note was brought to me by Burton--someone

had left at the Hotel.

"Dear Sir Nicholas--(it ran) I am very sorry I have been unable to come out to

do my work--but my brother died last Tuesday, and

I have been extremely occupied--I will be at Versailles

at eleven on Thursday as usual.

Yours truly,

A. Sharp."

* * * * *

Her firm writing, more like a man's than a woman's looked a little shaky

at the end--Was she crying perhaps when she wrote the letter--the poor

little girl--What will the death mean to her eventually? Will the

necessity to work be lessened?

But even the gravity of the news did not prevent a feeling of joy and

relief in me--I would see her again--Only four days to wait!

But what a strange note!--not any exhibition of feeling! she would not

share even that natural emotion of grief with me. Her work is business,

and a well bred person ought not to mix anything personal into it.--How

will she be--? Colder than ever? or will it have softened her--.

She will probably be more unbending to Burton than to me.

The weather has changed suddenly, the wind is sighing, and I know that

the summer is over--I shall have the sitting-room fire lighted and

everything as comfortable as I can when she does turn up, and I shall

have to stay here until then since I cannot communicate with her in any

way. This ridiculous obscurity as to her address must be cleared away.

I must try to ask her casually, so as not to offend her.