Have I been too impossible?--Will she not turn up?--and if she does not, what steps can I take to find her?--Maurice is at Deauville with the rest, and I do not know Miss Sharp's home address--nor if she has a telephone--probably not. My heart beats--I have every feeling of excitement as stupid as a woman! I analyse it all now, how mental emotion reacts on the physical--even the empty socket of my eye aches--I could hardly control my voice when Burton began a conversation about my orders for the day just now. "You would not be wishin' for the company of your Aunt Emmeline, Sir Nicholas"?--he asked me--. "Of course not, Burton, you old fool--" "You seem so much more restless, sir--lately--" "I am restless--please leave me alone." He coughed and retired. Now I am listening again--it wants two minutes to the hour--she is never late. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten--. It feels as if the blood would burst the veins--I cannot write. She came after all, only ten minutes beyond her usual time, but they seemed an eternity when I heard the ring and Burton's slow step. I could have bounded from my chair to open the door myself.--It was a telegram! How this always happens when one is expecting anyone with desperate anxiety--A telegram from Suzette. "I shall return to-night, _Mon Chou_." Her cabbage!--_Bah!_ I never want to see her again--. Miss Sharp must have entered when the door was opened for the telegram, for I had begun to feel pretty low again when I heard her knock at the door of the sitting-room. She came in and up to my chair as usual--but she did not say her accustomary cold good morning. I looked up--the horn spectacles were over her eyes again, and the rest of her face was very pale--while there was something haughty in the carriage of her small head, it seemed to me. Her eternal pad and pencil were in her little thin, red hands. "Good morning"--I said tentatively, she made a slight inclination as much as to say--"I recognize you have spoken," then she waited for me to continue. I felt an egregious ass, I knew I was nervous as a bird, I could not think of anything to say--I, Nicholas Thormonde, accustomed to any old thing! nervous of a little secretary! "Er--would you read me aloud the last chapter we finished"--I barked at last lamely. She turned to fetch the script from the other room--. I must apologize to her, I knew. She came back and sat down stiffly, prepared to begin. "I am sorry I was such an uncouth brute yesterday," I said--"It was good of you to come back--. Will you forgive me?" She bowed again. I almost hated her at that moment, she was making me feel so much--A foolish arrogance rose in me-- "We had better get to work I suppose," I went on pettishly. She began to read--how soft her voice is, and how perfectly cultivated.--Her family must be very refined gentlefolk--ordinary English typists have not that indescribable distinction of tone.