s further off than ever, and indeed has become an
impossibility I fear.

We worked in the sitting-room--it was a cloudy day--and presently, after
I had been dreaming on in this way, I asked her to read over the
earlier chapters of the book.--She did--.

"Now what do you think of the thing as a whole?" I asked her.

She was silent for a moment as though trying not to have to answer
directly, then that weird constitutional honesty seemed to force out the
words.

"It perhaps tells what that furniture is."

"You feel it is awful rot?"

"No--."

"What then?"

"It depends if you mean to publish it?"

I leaned back and laughed--bitterly! the realization that she understood
so completely that it was only a "_soulagement_"--an "asperine" for me,
so to speak as the Duchesse said--cut in like a knife. I had the
exasperated feeling that I was just being pandered to, humored by
everyone, because I was wounded. I was an object of pity, and even my
paid typist--but I can't write about it.

Miss Sharp started from her chair, her fine nostrils were quivering, and
her mouth had an expression I could not place.

"Indeed, it is not bad," she said--"You misunderstand me--."

I knew now that she was angry with herself for having hurt me--and that
I could have made capital out of this, but something in me would not let
me do that.

"Oh--it is all right--" I replied, but perhaps my voice may have been
flat and discouraged--for she went on so kindly.

"You know a great deal about the subject of course--but I feel the
chapters want condensing--May I tell you just where?"

I felt that the thing did not interest me any more, one way or another,
it was just a ridiculous non-essential--. I saw it all in a new
perspective--but I was glad she seemed kindly--though for a moment even
that appeared of less importance. Something seemed to have numbed me.
What, what could be the good of anything?--the meaning of anything?--I
unconsciously put my head back against the cushion of my chair in
weariness--I felt the soft silk and shut my eye for a moment.

When Miss Sharp spoke again, her voice was full of sympathy--and was it
remorse--?

"I would like to help you to take interest in it--again--won't you let
me?" she pleaded.

I was grateful that she did not say she was sorry she had hurt me--that
I could not have stood--.

I opened my eye now and looked at her, she was bending nearer to me, but
I felt nothing particular, only a desire