Man and Maid

by Elinor Glyn

  IV

  Maurice brought Miss Sharp to-day to interview me. I do not like hermuch, but the exhibition she gave me of her speed and accuracy inshort-hand satisfied me and made me see that I should be a fool to lookfurther. So I have engaged her. She is a small creature, palish withrather good bright brown hair--She wears horn rimmed spectacles withyellow glasses in them so I can't see her eyes at all. I judge people bytheir eyes. Her hands look as if she had done rather a lot of hardwork--they are so very thin. Her clothes are neat but shabby--that isnot the last look like French women have--but as if they had been turnedto "make do"--I suppose she is very poor. Her manner is icily quiet. Sheonly speaks when she is spoken to. She is quite uninteresting.

  It is better for me to have a nonentity--then I can talk aloud mythoughts without restriction. I am to give her double what she isgetting now--2000 francs a month--war price.

  Some colour came into her cheeks when I offered that and she hesitated,

  I said "Don't you think it is enough?"

  She answered so queerly.

  "I think it is too much, and I was wondering if I would be able toaccept it. I want to."

  "Then do."

  "Very well--I will of course do my very best to earn it"--and with thatshe bowed and left me.

  Anyhow she won't make a noise.

  Nina writes since she has married Jim--which she did just before theoffensive in March--she has been too happy--or too anxious, to rememberher friends--even dear old ones--but now fortunately Jim is wounded inthe ankle bone which will keep him at home for two months so she has alittle leisure.

  "You can't think, Nicholas, what a different aspect the whole war tookon when I knew Jim was in the front line--I adore him--and up to now Ihave managed to keep him adoring me--but I can see I'll have to becareful if he is going to be with me long at a time."

  So it would seem that Nina had not obtained the rest and security shehoped for.

  I hope my writing a book will rest me. I have arranged all my firstchapter in my head--and to-morrow I begin.

  _June 26th_--Miss Sharp came punctually at ten--she had a black andwhite cotton frock on--There is nothing of her--she is so slight--(amass of bones probably in evening dress--but thank goodness I shall notsee her in evening dress,) she goes at six--She is to have her lunchhere--Burton has arranged it. An hour off for lunch which she can haveon a tray in the small salon, which I have had arranged for her workroom.--Of course it won't take her an hour to eat--but Burton says shemust have that time, it is always done. It is a great nuisance forperhaps when 12:30 comes I shall just be in the middle of an inspirationand I suppose off she'll fly like the housemaids used when the servants'hall bell went at home. But I can't say anything.

  I was full of ideas and the beginning of my first chapter spouted out,and when Miss Sharp had read it over to me I found she had not made anymistake. That is a mercy.

  She went away and typed it, and then had her lunch--and I had mine, butMaurice dropped in and mine took longer than hers--it was half past twowhen I rang my hand bell for her (it is a jolly little silver one Ibought once in Cairo) She answered it promptly--the script in her hand.

  "I have had half an hour with nothing to do," she said--"Can you notgive me some other work which I can turn to, if this should happenagain?"

  "You can read a book--there are lots in the book case" I told her--"Or Imight leave you some letters to answer."

  "Thank you, that would be best"--(She is conscientious evidently).

  We began again.

  She sits at a table with her notebook, and while I pause she isabsolutely still--that is good. I feel she won't count more than a tableor chair. I am quite pleased with my work. It is awfully hot to-day andthere is some tension in the air--as though something was going tohappen. The news is the same--perhaps slightly better.--I am going tohave a small dinner to-night. The widow and Maurice and Madame deClerte--just four and we are going to the play. It is such a businessfor me to go I seldom turn out.--Maurice is having a little supper inhis rooms at the Ritz for us. It is my birthday--I am thirty-one yearsold.

  _Friday_--What an evening that 26th of June! The theatre was hot and thecramped position worried me so--and the lights made my eye ache--Madamede Clerte and I left before the end and ambled back to the Ritz in myone horse Victoria and went and sat in Maurice's room. We talked of thesituation, and the effect of the Americans coming in, bucking everyoneup--we were rather cheerful. Then the sirens began--and the gunsfollowed just as Maurice and Odette got back--They seemed unusuallyloud--and we could hear the bits of shrapnel falling on the terracebeneath us, Odette was frightened and suggested going into thecellar--but as Maurice's rooms are only on the second floor, we did notwant to take the trouble.

  Fear has a peculiar effect upon some people--Odette's complexion turnedgrey and she could hardly keep her voice steady. I wondered how soon shewould let restraint slip from her and fly out of the room to the cellar.Madame de Clerte was quite unmoved.

  Then the dramatic happened--Bang!--the whole house shook and the glassof the window crashed in fragments--and Maurice turned out the onelight--and lifted a corner of the thick curtain to peep out.

  "I believe they got the _Colome Vendome_" he said awed--and as he spokeanother bomb fell on the Ministaire beside us--and some of the splintersshot into space and buried themselves in our wall.

  We were all blown across the room--and Madame de Clerte and I fell in aheap together by the door, which gave way outwards--Odette's shrieksmade us think that she was hurt, but she was not, and subsided into agibbering prayer--Maurice helped Madame de Clerte to rise and I turnedon the torch I keep in my pocket, for a minute. I was not conscious ofany pain. We sat in the dark and listened to the commotion beneath usfor some time, and the crashing bombs but never one so nearagain.--Maurice's voice soothing Odette was the only sound in our room.

  Then Madame de Clerte laughed softly and lit a cigarette.

  "A near thing that, Nicholas!" she said--"Let us go down now and see whois killed, and where the explosion actually occurred--The sight is quiteinteresting you know you can believe me."

  "When Bertha hit the ---- two days ago, we rushed for taxis to go down tosee the place--Coralie--has petrol for her motor since two weeks youknow"--and she smiled wickedly--"Monsieur le Ministre must show hisgratitude somehow mustn't he?--Coralie is such a dear--Yes--?--So someof us packed in with her--we were quite a large party--and when we gotthere they were trying to extinguish the fire, and bringing out thebodies--You ought to come with us sometime when we go on thesetrips--anything for a change."

  These women would not have looked on at the sufferings of a mouse beforethe war--.

  The sight in the hall when we did arrive there after the "all clear"went--was remarkable--the great glass doors of the salon blown in andall the windows broken--and the _Place Vendome_ a mass of debris--not apane whole there I should think.

  But nobody seems very much upset--these things are all in the dayswork--.

  I wonder if in years to come we shall remember the queer recklessnesswhich has developed in almost everyones mentality, or shall we forgetabout the war and go on just as we were before--Who knows?

  * * * * *

  I said to Miss Sharp this morning--

  "What do you do in the evenings when you leave here"?

  I had forgotten for a moment that Maurice had told me that she makesbandages. She looked at me and her manner froze--I can't think why I_felt_ she thought I had no right to question her--I say "looked atme"--but I am never quite sure what her eyes are doing, because shenever takes off her yellow glasses--Those appear to be gazing at me atall events.

  "I make bandages."

  "Aren't you dead tired after working all day with me?"

  "I have not thought about it--the bandages are badly needed."

  Her pencil was in her hand, and the block ready--she evidently did notmean to go on conversing with me. This attitude of continuous diligenceon her pa
rt has begun to irritate me. She never fidgets--just works allthe time.

  I'll ask Burton what he thinks of her at luncheon to-day--As I saidbefore, Burton knows the world.

  * * * * *

  "What do you think of my typist, Burton?"

  He was putting a dish of make-believe before me--it is a meatlessday--my one-legged cook is an artist but he thinks me a fool because Iwon't let him cheat--our want of legs makes us friendly though.

  "And with a brother in the trade I could get Monsieur chickens and whathe would wish!" he expostulates each week.

  "A-hem"--Burton croaked.

  I repeated the question.

  "The young lady works very regular."

  "Yes--That is just it--a kind of a machine."

  "She earns her money Sir Nicholas."

  "Of course she does--I know all that--But what do you think of her?"

  "Beg pardon Sir Nicholas--I don't understand?"

  I felt irritated.

  "Of course you do--What kind of a creature I mean--?"

  "The young lady don't chatter Sir--She don't behave like bits of girls."

  "You approve of her then Burton?"

  "She's been here a fortnight only, Sir Nicholas, you can't tell in thetime"--and that is all I could get out of him--but I felt the verdictwhen he did give it would be favourable.

  Insignificant little Miss Sharp--!

  What shall I do with my day--? that is the question--my rotten uselessidle day?--I have no more inspiration for my book--besides Miss Sharphas to type the long chapter I gave her yesterday. I wonder if she knowsanything about William and Mary furniture really?--she never launches aremark.

  Her hands are very red these last days--does making bandages redden thehands?

  I wonder what colour her eyes are--one can't tell with that blurredyellow glass--.

  Suzette came in just as I wrote that; she seldom turns up in theafternoon. She caught sight of Miss Sharp typing through the open door.

  "_Tiens!_" she spit at me--"Since when?"

  "I am writing a book, Suzette."

  "I must see her face," and without waiting for permission, Suzetteflounced into the small salon.

  I could hear her shrill little voice asking Miss Sharp to be so good asto give her an envelope--She must write an address! I watched her--MissSharp handed her one, and went on with her work.

  Suzette returned, closing the door, without temper, behind her.

  "Wouff!" she announced to me--"No anxiety there--an _Anglaise_--notappetizing--not a _fausse maigre_ like us, as thin as a hairpin! Nothingfor thou Nicholas--and _Mon Dieu!_--she does the family washing by herhands--I know! mine look like that when I have taken one of myfortnights at the sea!"

  "You think it is washing?--I was wondering--."

  "Does she take off her glasses ever, Nicholas?"

  "No perhaps she has weak light eyes. One never can tell!"

  Suzette was not yet quite at ease about it all--. I was almost driven toask Miss Sharp to remove her glasses to reassure her.

  Women are jealous even of one-legged half blind men! I would like to askmy cook if he has the same trouble--but--Oh! I wish anything mattered!

  Suzette showed affection for me after this--and even passion! I would bequite good-looking she said--when I should be finished. Glass eyes wereso well made now--"and as for legs!--truly my little cabbage, they areas nimble as a goat's!"

  Of course I felt comforted when she had gone.

  * * * * *

  The hot days pass--Miss Sharp has not asked for a holiday, she plodsalong, we do a great deal of work--and she writes all my letters. Andthere are days when I know I am going to be busy with my friends, when Itell her she need not come--there was a whole week at the end of July.Her manner never alters, but when Burton attempted to pay her sherefused to take the cheque.

  "I did not earn that" she said.

  I was angry with Burton because he did not insist.

  "It was just, Sir Nicholas."

  "No, it was not, Burton--If she did not work here, she was out of pocketnot working anywhere else. You will please add the wretched sum to thisweek's salary."

  Burton nodded stubbornly, so I spoke to Miss Sharp myself.

  "It was my business as to whether I worked or did not work for aweek--therefore you are owed payment in any case--that is logic----."

  A queer red came into her transparent skin, her mouth shut firmly--Iknew that I had convinced her, and that yet for some reason she hatedhaving to take the money.

  She did not even answer, just bowed with that strange aloofness that isnot insolent. Her manner is never like a person of the lower classes,trying to show she thinks she is an equal. It has exactly the rightnote--perfectly respectful as one who is employed, but with the sereneunselfconsciousness that only breeding gives. Shades of manner are veryinteresting to watch. Somehow I _know_ that Miss Sharp, in her washedcotton, with her red little hands, is a lady.

  I have not seen my dear Duchesse lately--she has been down to one of hercountry places--where she sends her convalescents, but she is returningsoon. She gives me pleasure--.

  * * * * *

  _August 30th_--The interest in the book has flagged lately--I could notthink of a thing, so I proposed to Miss Sharp to have a holiday. Sheaccepted the fortnight without enthusiasm. Now she is back and we havebegun again--Still I have no _flair_--Why do I stick to it?--Justbecause I have said to the Duchesse that I _will_ finish it?----Ihave an uneasy feeling that I do not want to probe my real reason--Iwould like to lie even to this Journal. Lots of fellows have been uponthe five days' leave lately, things are going better--they jolly one,and I like to see them, but after they go I feel more of a rotten beastthan ever. The only times I forget are when Maurice brings the fluffiesto dine with me--when they rush up to Paris from Deauville. We drinkchampagne--(they love to know how much it costs) and I feel gay as aboy--and then in the night I have once or twice reached out for myrevolver. They have all gone back to Deauville now.

  Perhaps it is Miss Sharp who irritates me with her eternaldiligence--What is her life--who are her family? I would like to knowbut I will not ask--I sit and think and think what to write about in mybook. I have almost come to the end of grinding out facts about Walnutand ball fringe--and she sits taking it all down in short-hand, neverraising her head, day after day--.

  Her hair is pretty--that silky sort of nut brown with an incipient wavein it--her head is set on most gracefully, I must admit, and thecomplexion is very pale and transparent--But what a firm mouth!--Notcold though--only firm. I have never seen her smile. The hands are wellshaped really--awfully well shaped, if one watches them--How long wouldit take to get them white again I wonder? She has got good feet, too,thin like the hands--. How worn her clothes look--does she never have anew dress--?

  Yes Burton, I will see Madame de Clerte--.

  * * * * *

  Solonge de Clerte is a philosopher--she has her own aims--but I do notknow them.

  "Writing a book, Nicholas?" There was the devil of a twinkle in hereye--"There is a poor boy wounded in the leg who would make a perfectsecretary if you are not satisfied."

  I grew irritated--.

  "I am quite satisfied"--we heard the noise of the typing machine frombeyond--these modern doors allow nothing to be unknown.

  "Young, is she?" Madame de Clerte asked turning her glance in thatdirection.

  "I don't know and don't care--she types well"--.

  "_Hein?_"

  She saw that I was becoming enraged.--My dinners are good and the war isnot yet over--.

  "We shall all be terribly interested--yes--when we read the result--."

  "Probably"--.

  Then she told me of complications occurring about Coralie's husband.

  "Of an insanity to attempt the three at once" she sighed--.

  And now I can turn to my journal again--Good God--the las
t pages haveall been about Miss Sharp--ridiculous, exasperating Miss Sharp! did Iwrite ridiculous?--No--it is I who am ridiculous--I shall go for adrive--!

  * * * * *

  God! what is the meaning of it all--!

  I have been in hell----I came in from my drive very quietly, it wasearly, a quarter to six, Miss Sharp goes at six--It was a horriblychilly evening and Burton had lit a bright wood fire--and I suppose itscrackling prevented my hearing the sounds which were coming from thenext room for a minute. I sat down in my chair--.

  What was that?--the _roucoulements_ of a dove?--No, a woman's voicecooing foolish love words in French and English--and a child's treblegurgling fondness back to her. It seemed as if my heart stoppedbeating--as if every nerve in my spine quivered--a tremendous emotion ofI know not what convulsed me.--I lay and listened and suddenly I felt mycheek wet with tears--then some shame, some anger shook me, and Istarted to my feet, and hobbled to the door which was ajar--I opened itwide--there was Miss Sharp with the _concierge's_ daughter's baby on herlap fondling it--the creature may be six months old. Her horn spectacleslay on the table. She looked up at me, the slightest flash of timidityshowing--but her eyes--Oh! God! the eyes of the Madonna--heavenly blue,tender as an angel's--soft as a doe's--. I could have cried aloud withsome pain in the soul--and so that brute part of me spoke--.

  "How dare you make this noise"?--I said rudely--"do you not know that Ihave given orders for complete quiet"--.

  She rose, holding the child with the greatest dignity--The picture shemade could be in the Sistine Chapel.

  "I beg your pardon" she said in a voice which was not quite steady--"Idid not know you had returned, and Madame Bizot asked me to hold littleAugustine while she went to the next floor--it shall not occur again!"

  I longed to stay and gaze at them both--I would have liked to havetouched the baby's queer little fat fingers--I would have liked--Oh--Iknow not what--And all the time Miss Sharp held the child protectively,as though something evil would come from me and harm it.--Then sheturned and carried it out of the room--and I went back into mysitting-room and flung myself down in my chair--.

  What had I done--Beast--brute--What had I done?

  And will she never come back again?--and will life be emptier thanever--?

  I could kill myself--.

  * * * * *

  It shall not be only Suzette but six others for supper to-night--.

  _Five a.m._--The dawn is here and it is not the rare sound of an Augustpigeon that I am listening to, but the tender cooing of a woman and achild--God, how can I get it out of my ears.