The letter ended: "Adieu Nicholas! tu es,
Toujours Mon Adoré
Ta Suzette."
but the way it was folded only showed "Toujours Mon Adoré--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 à propos of
nothing--and of course she greeted this, with her usual silence.