"Of course you do—What kind of a creature I mean—?"
"The young lady don't chatter Sir—She don't behave like bits of girls."
"You approve of her then Burton?"
"She's been here a fortnight only, Sir Nicholas, you can't tell in the time"—and that is all I could get out of him—but I felt the verdict when he did give it would be favourable.
Insignificant little Miss Sharp—!
What shall I do with my day—? that is the question—my rotten useless idle day?—I have no more inspiration for my book—besides Miss Sharp has to type the long chapter I gave her yesterday. I wonder if she knows anything about William and Mary furniture really?—she never launches a remark.
Her hands are very red these last days—does making bandages redden the hands?
I wonder what colour her eyes are—one can't tell with that blurred yellow glass—.
Suzette came in just as I wrote that; she seldom turns up in the afternoon. She caught sight of Miss Sharp typing through the open door.
"Tiens!" she spit at me—"Since when?"