I felt a hot flush mounting to my forehead—The very thought of my adored little girl in the category of Suzette!—I could have struck my old friend—but I had just sense enough to reason things. Maurice was only speaking as any of the Paris world would speak. A secretary, whom a man was obviously interested in, was certainly not out of the running for the post of "Maitresse-en-titre!"
He meant no personal disrespect to Alathea. For him women were either of the world or they were not!—True, there was an intermediate class "Les braves gens"—Bourgeoises—servants, typists, etc., etc.—But one could only be interested in one of these for one reason. That is how things appeared to Maurice. I knew his views; perhaps I had shared them in some measure in my unregenerate days.
"Look here Maurice—I want you to understand—that Miss Sharp is a lady in every way—I have already told you this but you don't seem to have grasped it—and that she has my greatest respect—and it makes me sick to think of anyone talking of her as you have just done. Although I know you did not mean anything low, you old owl!—She treats me as though I were a tiresome, elderly employer—whom she must give obedience to, but is not obliged to converse with. She would not permit the slightest friendship or familiarity from any man she worked for."
"Your interest is then serious, Nicholas?"
Maurice was absolutely aghast!
"My respect is serious—my curiosity is hot—and I want information."——
Maurice tried to feel relieved—.
"Supposing financial disaster fell upon your family, old boy—would you consider your sister less of a lady because she had to earn bread for you all by being a typist!"
"Of course not—but it would be very dreadful!—Marie!—Oh! I could not think of it!"
"Then try to get the idea into your thick head that Miss Sharp is Marie—and behave accordingly—That is how I look at her."