her--Even though it was proved to them that she was
pretty--a perfect lady--intelligent--virtuous--clever! She is not of
their set and might, and probably would, be a stumbling block in their
path when they wished to make use of me!--so she would be taboo! None of
them would put it in that way of course, their opposition would be (and
they might even think they were sincere) because they were thinking of
_my_ happiness!

Burton is the only person whose sympathy I could count upon!

How about the Duchesse?--that is the deepest mystery of all--I must find
out from Burton what was the date about when she came to my
_appartement_ and found Alathea. Was it before that time when she asked
me if I were in love--and I saw that dear little figure in the
passage?--Could she have been thinking of her--?

By Thursday when there was no further news I began to feel so restless
that I determined to go back to Paris the following week. It was all
very well to be out in the _parc_ at Versailles with a mind at ease, but
it feels too far away when I am so troubled.

I sent Burton in on Friday to Auteuil--.

"Just walk about near the wine shop, Burton, and try to find out by
every clue your not unintelligent old pate can invent, where Miss Sharp
lives, and what is happening? Then go to the Hotel de Courville and chat
with the concierge--or whatever you think best--I simply can't stand
hearing nothing!"

Burton pulled in his lips.

"Very good, Sir Nicholas."

I tried to correct my book in the afternoon. I really am trying to do
the things I feel she thinks would improve my character--But I am one
gnawing ache for news--Underneath is the fear that some complication may
occur which will prevent her returning to me. I find myself listening to
every footstep in the passage in case it might be a telegram, so of
course quite a number of messages and things were bound to come from
utterly uninteresting sources, to fill me with hope and then disappoint
me--It is always like that. I really was wild on Friday afternoon, and
if George Harcourt had not turned up--he is at the Trianon Palace now
with the Supreme War Council--I don't know what I should have done with
myself. Lots of those fellows would come and dine with me if I wanted
them--some are even old pals--but I am out of tune with my kind.

George was very amusing.

"My dear boy," he said, "Violetta is upsetting all my calculations--she
has refused everything I have offered her--Bu