How mysterious it all is!-I wish I had been able to conceal the fact that I had noticed that the
glasses were off--Another day I would certainly have taken advantage of
this moment and would have tried to make her confess the reason of her
wearing them; but some odd quality in me prevented me from reaping any
advantage from this situation, so I let the chance pass.--Perhaps she
was grateful to me, for she warmed up a little again.
I began to feel that I might write the fool of a book right over from
the beginning--and suggested to her that we should take it in detail.
She acquiesced--.
Then it suddenly struck me that she had not only spoken of style in
writing, of method in book making--but had shown an actual knowledge of
the subject of the furniture itself.--How could little Miss Sharp, a
poverty stricken typist, be familiar with William and Mary furniture?
She has obviously not "seen better days," and only taken up a
stenographic business lately, because such proficiency as she shows, not
only in this work but in account keeping and all the duties of a
secretary, must have required a steady professional training.
Could she have studied in Museums?
But the war has been on for four years and I had gathered that she has
been in Paris all that time--Even if she had left England in 1914, she
could only have been eighteen or nineteen then, and girls of that age do
not generally take an interest in furniture. This thought kept bothering
me--and I was silent for some moments. I was weighing things up.
Her voice interrupted my thoughts.
"The Braxted chair has the first of the knotted fringes known"--it was
saying.
I had spoken of the Braxted chair--but had not recorded this fact--.
How the devil could she have known about it?
"Where did you find that?"
"I knew someone who had seen it--" she answered in the same voice, but
her cheeks grew pinker--.
"You have never seen it yourself?"
"No--I have never been in England--."
"----Never been in England?"
I was stupefied.
She went on hurriedly--I was going to write feverishly,--so quickly did
she rush into questions of method in arranging the chapters, her armour
was on again--she had become cautious, and was probably annoyed with
herself for ever having allowed herself to slip off her guard.
I knew that I could disconcert her, and probably obtain some interesting
admissions from her--and have a thrilling fencing match, but some
instinct warned me not to do so--I might win out for the time being, but
if she has a secret which she does not wish me to discover, she will
take care not again to put herself in a situation where this can happen.
I have the apprehension always hanging, like Damocles' sword, over my
head, of her relinquishing her post. Besides, why should I trouble her
for my own satisfaction?--However, I registered a vow then that I would
find out all I could from Maurice.