"I shall expect nothing more; your sense of the fitness of things will
suggest to you not to make either of us look ridiculous in public by
your being over disagreeable to me, we shall carry on with a semblance
of mutual respect, I hope."
She bowed.
The temptation to burst out and tell her of my feelings was
extraordinary. I absolutely trembled with the control it required not to
rise from my chair and go and take her hands; but I restrained every
sign and appeared as indifferent as she is. The Duchesse came back in a
few moments and I said I would go.
I did not even then shake hands with Alathea, and the Duchesse came out
into the passage with me, to see me safe into the lift, she is always so
kind to anything crippled.
"Nicholas," she whispered, "Her manner to you is very cruel, but do not
be discouraged!--I feel that it is more promising than if she were kind.
She has also had a dreadful time with the father, who has now been
transferred to the poste in the desert in Africa. One must hope for
good, and her poor mother is going off to Hyères with little Hilda and
their faithful old maid, the only servant they had, so after the wedding
you will have your bride all to yourself!"
"Perhaps the thought of that is what is making her so reluctant and icy
to-day!"
The Duchesse laughed as she handed me my crutch and closed the lift
door. "Time will tell, my son!" and she waved her hand as I disappeared
below.
And now I am alone before the crackling fire in my sitting-room,--and I
wonder how many men have spent the eve of their marriages in so quiet a
manner? I feel no excitement even. I have re-read this journal, it is a
pretty poor literary effort, but it does chronicle my emotions, and the
gradual growing influence Alathea has been exercising upon me. By
putting down what happens between us each day like this, I can then
review progress once a week, and can take stock of little shades which
would not be remembered otherwise.
* * * * *
At that moment the telephone rang, and George Harcourt asked if he might
come round and smoke a cigar.
"Your pre-war ones are so good, Nicholas," he said. He was in at the
Ritz, from Versailles, for the night.
I answered "Yes." I like to talk to old George, I don't know why I call
him old always, he is forty-eight perhaps, and absolutely well
preserved, and women love him passionately, more perhaps than when he
was young.