Man and Maid

E >> Elinor Glyn >> Man and Maid

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"I want to tell you of my sympathy," I said immediately--"I was so sorry
not to know your address that I might have expressed it to you before--I
would have wished to send you some flowers."

"Thank you," was all she answered--but her voice trembled a little.

"It was so stupid of me not to have asked you for your address
before--you must have thought it was so careless and unsympathetic."

"Oh! no"--.

"Won't you give it to me now that I may know in the future?"

"We are going to move--It would be useless--it is not decided where we
go yet."

I knew I dared not insist.

"Is there some place where I could be certain of a message reaching you
then? because I would have asked you to come to the flat to-day and not
out here if I could have found you."

She was silent for a moment. I could see she was in a corner--I felt an
awful brute but I had said it all quite naturally as any employer would
who was quite unaware that there could be any reluctance to give the
information, and I felt it was better to continue in this strain not to
render her suspicious.

After a second or two she gave the number of a stationer's shop in the
Avenue Mosart--.

"I pass there every day," she said.

I thanked her--.

"I hope you did not hurry back to your work--I can't bear to think that
perhaps you would have wished to remain at home now."

"No, it does not matter"--There was an infinite weariness in her
tone--A hopeless flatness I had never heard before, it moved me so that
I blurted out--.

"Oh! I have felt so anxious, and so sorry--I saw you in the _Bois_ two
Sundays ago in the thunder storm, and I tried to get near the path I
thought you would cross to offer you the carriage to return in, but I
missed you--Perhaps your little brother caught cold then?"

There was a sob in her voice--.

"Yes--will you--would you mind if we just did not speak of anything but
began work."

"Forgive me--I only want you to know that I'm so awfully sorry--and Oh,
if there was anything in the world I could do for you--would you not let
me?"

"I appreciate your wish--it is kind of you--but there is nothing--You
were going to begin the last chapter over again--Here is the old one--I
will take off my hat while you look at it," and she handed it to me.

Of course I could not say anything more--I had had a big bunch of
violets put on the table where she types, in Burton's room
adoining--they were the first forced ones which could be got in
Paris--and I had slipped a card by them with just "my sympathy" on it.

When she came back into the room hatless, her cheeks were bright pink
below the glasses--and all she said was "Thank you" and then I saw a
little streak of wet trickle from under the horn rims. I have never had
such a temptation in my life--to stretch out my arms and cry "Darling
one, let me comfort you, here clasped close to me!"--I longed to touch
her--to express somehow that I felt profoundly for her grief.--

"Miss Sharp--" I did burst out--"I am not saying anything because I know
you don't want me to--but it is not because I do not
feel--I'm--I'm--awfully sorry--May not I perhaps send some roses
to--your home--or, perhaps there is someone there who would like
them--flowers are such jolly things!"--Then I felt the awfully ill
chosen word "jolly" was--but I could not alter it.

I believe that _gaucherie_ on my part helped though a little, her fine
senses understood it was because I was so nervously anxious to offer
comfort--a much kinder note came into her voice--.

"I'll take the violets with me if you will let me," she said--"Please
don't trouble about anything more--and do let us begin work."

So we started upon the Chapter.

Her hands were not so red I noticed. I am becoming sensitive to what is
called "atmosphere" I suppose, for I felt all the currents in the room
were disturbed--that ambience of serenity did not surround Alathea and
keep me unconsciously in awe of her as it always has before--I was aware
that my natural emotions were running riot and that my one eye was
gazing at her with love in it, and that my imagination was conjuring up
scenes of delight with her as a companion. Her want of complete control
allowed the waves to reach her, I expect--for I knew that she was using
all her will to keep her attention upon the work, and that she was
nearly as disturbed as I was myself--.

But how was she disturbed?--was she just nervous from events--or was I
causing her any personal trouble? The moment I felt that perhaps I was,
a feeling of assurance and triumph came over me--! Then I used every bit
of the cunning I possess--I tried to say subtle things--I made her talk
about the ridiculous book, and the utterly unimportant furniture--I made
her express her opinion about styles, and got out of her that a simple
Queen Anne was what she herself preferred.--I _knew_ that she was giving
way and talking with less stiffness because she was weak with sorrow,
and probably had not had much sleep--I _knew_ that it was not because
she had forgotten about the Suzette cheque or really was more friendly.
I _knew_ that I was taking an unfair advantage of her--but I
continued--Men are really brutes after all!--and gloried in my power
every time the slightest indication showed that I possessed it! I lost
some of my diffidence--If I could only have stood upon two feet and seen
with two eyes--I know that even the morning would have ended by my
taking her in my arms, cost what might; but as I was glued to my chair
she was enabled always at this stage to stay out of reach--and fenced
gallantly with me by silence and stiff answers--but by luncheon time
there was a distinct gain on my side--I had made her feel something, I
no longer was a nonentity who did not count--.

Her skin is so transparent that the colour fluctuates with every
emotion. I love to watch it. What a mercy that I had very strong
sight!--for my one eye sees quite clearly.

At luncheon we talked of the time of the Fronde--Alathea is so
wonderfully well read. I make dashes into all sorts of subjects, and
find she knows more of them than I do myself--What a mind she must have
to have acquired all this in her short twenty-three years.

"You are not thinking of leaving Paris, I hope when you move," I said as
we drank coffee. "I am going to begin another book directly this one is
finished."

"It is not yet decided," she answered abruptly.

"I could not write without you."

Silence.

"I would love to think that you took an interest in teaching me how to
be an author--."

The faintest shrug of the shoulders--.

"You don't take any interest?"

"No."

"Are not you very unkind?"--

"No--If you have anything to complain of in my work I will listen
attentively and try and alter it."

"You will never allow the slightest friendship?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Why should I?"

"I must be grateful even that you ask a question, I suppose--Well, I
don't know quite myself why you should--You think I am a rotter--You
despise my character--you think my life is wasted and that--er--I have
undesirable friends."

Silence.

"Miss Sharp! you drive me crazy never answering--I can't think why you
like to be so provoking!" I was stung to exasperation.

"Sir Nicholas," and she put down her cup with displeasure--"If you will
not keep to the subject of work--I am sorry but I cannot stay as your
secretary."

Terror seized me--.

"I shall have to if you insist upon it--I suppose--but I am longing to
be friends with you--and I can't think why you should resent it so--We
are both English, we are both--unhappy--we are both lonely--."

Silence!--

"Somehow I don't feel it is altogether because I am a revolting object
to look at that you are so unkind--you must have seen lots like me since
the war--."

"I am not unkind--I think you are--May I go to my work now?"

We rose from the table--And for a second she was so near to me the pent
up desire of weeks mastered me and the tantalization of the morning
overcame me so that a frantic temptation seized me--I _could not_ resist
it--I put out one arm while I steadied myself with the other by the back
of a chair, and I drew her tiny body towards me, and pressed my lips to
her Cupid's bow of a mouth--And Oh God the pleasure of it--right or
wrong!

She went dead white when I released her, she trembled, and in her turn
held on to the back of the chair--.

"How dare you!" she panted--"How dare you!--I will go this minute--You
are not a gentleman."

The reaction came to me--.

"That is it, I suppose--" I said hoarsely--"I am not a gentleman
underneath--the civilization is mere veneer--and the _man_ breaks
through it--I have nothing to say--I was mad, that is all. You will have
to weigh up as to whether it is worth your while to stay with me or not.
I cannot judge of that. I can only assure you that I will try not to err
again--perhaps some day you will know how you have been making me suffer
lately--I shall go to my room now, and you can let me have your decision
in an hour or so--."

I could not move because my crutch had fallen to the floor out of my
reach--She stood in indecision for a moment and then she bent and picked
it up and gave it to me. She was still as white as a ghost. As I got to
the door I turned and said--.

"I apologize for having lost my self-control--I am ashamed of that--and
do not ask you to forgive me--Your staying or not is a business
arrangement. I give you my word I will try never to be so weak again."

She was gazing at me--For once I had taken the wind out of her sails--.

Then I bowed and hobbled on into my bedroom, shutting the door after me.

Here my courage deserted me. I got to the bed with difficulty and threw
myself down upon it and lay there, too filled with emotion to stir. The
thought tormenting me always. Have I burnt my boats--or is this only the
beginning of a new stage?

Time will tell.

XIV

I lay and wondered and wondered what were Alathea's emotions after I
left her. Should I ever know? When the hour was up I went back into the
sitting-room. I had struggled against the awful depression which was
overcoming me. I suppose every man has committed some action he is sorry
and ashamed of, forced thereto by some emotion, either of anger or
desire, which has been too strong for his will to control--. This is the
way murders must often have been committed, and other crimes--I had not
the slightest intention of behaving like a cad--or of doing anything
which I knew would probably part us forever.--If my insult had been
deliberate or planned, I would have held her longer, and knowing I was
going to lose her by my action, I would have profited by it. As I lay on
my bed in great pain from the wrench in getting there alone--I tried to
analyse things. The nervous excitement in which she always plunges me
must have come to the culminating point. The only thing I was glad about
was that I had not attempted to ask forgiveness, or to palliate my
conduct. If I had done so she would undoubtedly have walked straight out
of the hotel--but having just had the sense to leave her to think for a
while--perhaps--?

Well--I was sitting in my chair--feeling some kind of numb
anguish--which I suppose those going to be hanged experience, when
Burton brought in my tea--and I heard no sound of clicking next door--I
asked him as naturally as I could if Miss Sharp had gone--.

"Yes, Sir Nicholas," he answered, and the shock, even though it was
expected, was so great that for a second I closed my eye.

She had left a note, he further added,--putting the envelope down on the
table beside the tray--.

I made myself light a cigarette and not open it, and I made myself say
casually--

"I am afraid she feels her brother's death dreadfully, Burton!"

"The poor young lady, Sir Nicholas!--She must have kept up brave like
all the time this morning, and then after lunch when I come in--while
you were resting, Sir--it got too much for her, I expect, sittin'
alone--for she was sobbin' like to break her heart--as I opened the
door. She looked that forlorn and huddled up--give you my word, Sir
Nicholas--I was near blubberin' myself."

"I am so awfully sorry--What did you do, Burton?"

"I said, '--Let me bring you a nice cup of tea, Miss.'--It is always
best to bring ladies tea when they are upset, Sir Nicholas, as you may
know--She thanked me sweet like, as she always does--and I made so bold
as to say how sorry I was, and I did hope she had not had any extra
trouble to deal with over it; and how I'd be so glad to advance her her
next week's salary if it would be any convenience to her--knowing
funerals and doctors is expensive--Out of my own money of course I gave
her to understand--because I knew she'd be bound to refuse yours, Sir
Nicholas.

"--At that her tears burst out afresh--She had no glasses on, and she
looked no more than sixteen years old, give you my word Sir--She thanked
me like as if it was something real kind I'd thought of--I felt sort of
ashamed I could not do more--

"Then she seemed to be having a struggle with herself--just as if she'd
rather die than take anything from anybody--and yet knew she had to--She
turned them, blue eyes on me streamin' with tears, and I had to turn
away, Sir Nicholas--I had really.--

"'Burton,' she says--. 'Have you ever felt that you wanted to be dead
and done with it all--that you couldn't fight any more?'

--"'I can't say as I have, Miss,' I answered her--'but I know my master
feels that way often--' Perhaps she felt kinder, sorry for you too, Sir
Nicholas, because as I said that, she gave a sort of extra sharp sob and
buried her face in her hands--.

"I slipped out of the room then and brought the tea as quick as I could
you may believe me Sir--and by that time she had pulled herself
together--'It is stupid to have any proud feelings--if you have to work
Burton' she said--'I will be--grateful for the loan of your money--and I
am happy to have such a friend' ... and she put out her little bit of a
hand--She did, Sir Nicholas--and I never felt so proud in my life--She's
just a real lady to her finger tips. She is, Sir--I shook it as gentle
as I could, and then was obliged to blow my nose, I felt that
blubberish--I left the room at once, and when I come back for the tray,
and to bring the money she had her hat on, and the note written for you
Sir--I took the violets and began putting them in the box for her to
take--but she stopped me--.

"'Violets fade so soon--I will not take them, thanks,' she said--'I have
to do some shopping before I go home and I could not carry them.' But I
knew it was not that.--She did not want to take them--perhaps she felt
she'd given up enough of her pride to take my money--for one day--So I
said nothing,--but that I did hope she would be feeling better by the
time she came to the _appartement_ on Saturday. She did not speak, she
just nodded her head and smiled kind like at me and went."

I could not answer Burton--I too just nodded my head--and the dear old
boy left me alone--My very heart seemed bursting with pain and
remorse--When he had gone--I seized the letter and opened it.

* * * * *

"To Sir Nicholas Thormonde, Bart, V.C.," (it began, and then)

"Dear Sir:

Circumstances force me to work--so I shall have to remain in your
service--if you require me. I am unfortunately quite defenceless, so I
appeal to whatever chivalry there is in you not to make it so impossible
that I must again give in my resignation.

Yours faithfully,
A. Sharp."

* * * * *

I fell back in my chair in an agony of emotion--My darling! My
queen!--whose very footprints I worship--to have had to write such a
letter--to me!

The unspeakable brute beast I felt! All my cynical calculations about
women fell from me--I saw myself as I had been all day--utterly
selfish--not really feeling for her grief, only making capital out of it
for my own benefit--. At that moment, and for the rest of the day and
night, I suffered every shade of self reproach and abasement a man can
feel. And next day I had to stay in bed because I had done some stupid
thing to my leg in lying down without help.

When I knew I could not get into Paris by Saturday when Alathea was to
come to the flat--I sent Burton in with a note to the shop in the Avenue
Mosart.

"Dear Miss Sharp--(I wrote)

"I am deeply grateful for your magnanimity. I am utterly ashamed of my
weakness--and you will not have called upon my chivalry in vain, I
promise you.--I have to stay in bed, so I cannot be at the flat, and if
you receive this in time I shall be obliged if you will come out here
again on Saturday.

Yours very truly,
Nicholas Thormonde."

Then I never slept all night with thoughts of longing and wondering if
she would get it soon enough to come.

Over and over in my vision I saw the picture of her sitting there in
Burton's room sobbing--My action was the last straw--My shameful
action!--Burton showed the good taste and the sympathy and understanding
for her which I should have done--. And to think that she is troubled
about money, so that she had to take a loan from my dear old
servitor--far greater gentleman than I am--. And that I cannot be the
least use to her--and may not help her in any way! I can go on no longer
in this anguish--as soon as I feel that peace is in the smallest measure
restored between us--I will ask her to marry me, just so that I can give
her everything. I shall tell her that I expect nothing from her--only
the right to help her family and give her prosperity and peace--.

* * * * *

_Sunday:_

I was still in bed on Saturday morning at eleven--the Doctor came out to
see me very early and insisted that I be kept quite still until
Monday--So Burton had my bed table brought, and all my papers and
things--There had come a number of letters to answer, and he had asked
me if Miss Sharp could not do them as soon as she arrived.

"Burton, perhaps she'll feel not quite at ease with me alone in here
like this. Could you not make some excuse to be tidying drawers and
stay while I am dictating," I said.

"Very good, Sir Nicholas."

When he replies with those words I know that he is agreeing--with
reservations--.

"Out with what you are thinking, Burton."

"Well, Sir Nicholas"--and he coughed--"Miss Sharp--is that understandin'
sh'd know in a minute your things wasn't likely to be in a mess, and
that you'd got me there on purpose--It might make her awkward like--."

"You may be right, we will see how things turn out."

Presently I heard Alathea in the sitting-room and Burton went in to see
her.

"Sir Nicholas is very poorly to-day, Miss"--I heard him say--"The Doctor
won't let him out of bed--I wonder if you'd be so kind as to take down
his letters--they are too much for him himself not being able to sit
up--and I have not the time."

"Of course I will, Burton," her soft voice answered.

"I've put the table and everything ready--and I thank you kindly--"
Burton went on--"I am glad to see you looking better, Miss."

I listened intently--It seemed as if I could hear her taking off her
hat--and then she came into the room to me--but by that time my heart
was beating so that I could not speak loud.

I said "good morning" in some half voice, and she answered the
same--then she came forward to the table. Her dear little face was very
pale and there was something pathetic in the droop of her lips--her
hands, I noticed, were again not so red--.

"All the letters are there"--and I pointed to the pile--"It will be so
good of you if you will do them now."

She took each one up and handed it to me without speaking and I dictated
the answer.--I had had one from Suzette that morning thanking me for the
villa--but I was clearly under the impression that I had put it with the
one from Maurice and one from Daisy Ryven at the other side of the bed,
so I had no anxiety about it--Then suddenly I saw Alathea's cheeks flame
crimson and her mouth shut with a snap--and I realized that the irony of
fate had fallen upon me again, and that she had picked up Suzette's
lavender tinted, highly scented missive. She handed it to me without a
word--.

The letter ended:

"_Adieu Nicholas! tu es,
Toujours Mon Adore
Ta Suzette._"

but the way it was folded only showed "_Toujours Mon Adore--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 _a propos_ of
nothing--and of course she greeted this, with her usual silence.

"I am feeling so rotten if I could hear some music it would make me
better."

She made the faintest movement with her head, to show me I suppose that
she was listening respectfully, but saw no occasion to reply.

I felt so unspeakably wretched and helpless and useless lying there, I
had not the pluck to go on trying to talk, so I closed my eye and lay
still, and then I heard Alathea rise and softly go towards the door--.

"I will type this at home--and return it to the flat on Tuesday if that
will be all right," she said--and: I answered:

"Thank you" and turned my face to the wall--And after a little, when she
had gone, Burton came in and gave me the medicine the Doctor had told
him to give me, he said--but I have a strong suspicion it was simply
asperine, for then I fell into a dreamy sleep and forgot my aching body
and my troubled mind.

And now I am much better in health again--and am back in Paris and
to-night Maurice, up from Deauville at last, is coming to dine with me.

But what is the good of it all?

XV

I was awfully glad to see old Maurice again--he was looking brown and
less dilettante--though his socks and tie and eyes matched as well as
ever! He congratulated me on the improvement in health in myself too,
and then he gave me all the news--.

Odette has been "painting the lily," and used some new skin tightener
which has disfigured her for the moment, and she has retired to the
family place near Bordeaux to weep until her complexion is restored
again--.

"Very unfortunate for her," Maurice said--"because she had nearly
secured a roving English peer who had enjoyed 'cushy' jobs during the
war, and had been recruiting from the fatigues of red-taping at
Deauville--and now, with this whisper of a spoiled skin, he had
transferred his attentions to Coralie--and there was trouble among the
graces!"--Alice's plaintiveness had actually caught a very rich neutral
who was forwarding philanthropic schemes for great ladies--and she hoped
soon to wed.

Coralie seemed in the most secure and happy case, since she is already
established, and can enjoy herself without anxiety.--Maurice hinted that
but for her _beguin_ for me, she could land the English peer, and
divorce poor Rene--her docile war husband--and become an English
Countess!

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