The letter ended: "Adieu Nicholas! tu es,

Toujours Mon Adoré

Ta Suzette."

but the way it was folded only showed "Toujours Mon Adoré--Ta

Suzette"--and this much Alathea had certainly seen--.

I felt as if there was some evil imp laughing in the room--There was

nothing to be said or done. I could not curse aloud--so I simply took

the letter, put it with Daisy Ryven's--and indicated that I was waiting

for the next one to be handed to me--So Alathea continued her work.--But

could anything be more maddening--more damnably provoking!--and

inopportune--Why must the shadow of Suzette fall upon me all the time?-This of course will make any renewal of even the coldest friendliness

impossible, between my little girl and me--. I cannot ask her to marry

me now, and perhaps not for a long time, if ever the chance comes to me

again, in any case. Her attitude, carriage of head, and expression of

mouth, showed contempt, as she finished the short-hand notes. And then

she rose and went into the other room to type, closing the door after

her.

And I lay there shivering with rage and chagrin.

I saw no more of Alathea that morning--She had her lunch in the

sitting-room alone, and Burton brought the dishes in to me, and after

luncheon he insisted that I should sleep for an hour until half-past two

o'clock. He had some accounts for Miss Sharp to do, he said.

I was so exhausted that when I did fall asleep I slept until nearly

four--and awoke with a start and an agony of apprehension that she might

have gone--but no--Burton said she was still there when I rang for

him--and I asked her to come in again--.

We went over one of the earlier chapters in the book and I made some

alterations in it; she never showed the slightest interest, nor did she

speak--; she merely took down what I told her to--.

"Do you think that will do now?" I asked when it was complete.

"Yes."

Tea came in then for us both.--She poured it out, still without uttering

a word--she remembered my taste of no sugar or milk, and put the cup

near me so that I could reach it. She handed me the plate of those nasty

make-believe biscuits, which is all we can get now--then she drank her

own tea.

The atmosphere had grown so tense it was supremely uncomfortable. I felt

that I must break the ice.

"How I wish there was a piano here," I remarked à propos of

nothing--and of course she greeted this, with her usual silence.




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