Now what do I get out of the iciness over Suzette's cheque?
Two possibilities--.
One--that she is more prudish than one of her literary cultivation, and
worldly knowledge is likely to be, so that she strongly disapproves of
a man having a "petite amie"--or-Two--that she has sensed that I love her and was affronted at the
discovery that at the same time I had a--friend?-The second possibility gives me hope, and so I fear to entertain a
belief in it--but taken coldly it seems the most likely.--Now if she had
not been affronted at this stage, would she have gone on believing I
loved her, and so eventually have shown some reciprocity?
It is just possible--.
And as it is, will that same instinct which is in the subconscious mind
of all women--and men too for the matter of that--which makes them want
to fight to retain or retake what was theirs, influence her now
unconsciously to feel some, even contemptuous, interest in me? This also
is possible--.
If only fate brings her to me again--. That is where one is done--when
absence cuts threads.
To-morrow it will be Monday--a whole week since I received her telegram.
I shall go up to Paris in the morning if I hear nothing and go myself to
the Hotel de Courville to try and obtain a trace of her--if that is
impossible I will write to the Duchesse.-
* * * * *
Reservoirs--Night:
As I wrote the last words--a note was brought to me by Burton--someone
had left at the Hotel.
"Dear Sir Nicholas--(it ran) I am very sorry I have been unable to come out to
do my work--but my brother died last Tuesday, and
I have been extremely occupied--I will be at Versailles
at eleven on Thursday as usual.
Yours truly,
A. Sharp."
* * * * *
Her firm writing, more like a man's than a woman's looked a little shaky
at the end--Was she crying perhaps when she wrote the letter--the poor
little girl--What will the death mean to her eventually? Will the
necessity to work be lessened?
But even the gravity of the news did not prevent a feeling of joy and
relief in me--I would see her again--Only four days to wait!
But what a strange note!--not any exhibition of feeling! she would not
share even that natural emotion of grief with me. Her work is business,
and a well bred person ought not to mix anything personal into it.--How
will she be--? Colder than ever? or will it have softened her--.
She will probably be more unbending to Burton than to me.
The weather has changed suddenly, the wind is sighing, and I know that
the summer is over--I shall have the sitting-room fire lighted and
everything as comfortable as I can when she does turn up, and I shall
have to stay here until then since I cannot communicate with her in any
way. This ridiculous obscurity as to her address must be cleared away.
I must try to ask her casually, so as not to offend her.