Burton puffed a little as we went up the rather steep slope by the Aile du Nord, and Miss Sharp put her hand on the bar and helped him to push the chair.
"Is it not hateful for me being such a burden"—I could not help saying—.
"It leaves you more time to think—."
"Well! that is no blessing—that is the agony—thinking."
"It should not be—to have time to think must be wonderful"—and she sighed unconsciously.
Over me came a kind of rush of tenderness—I wanted to be strong again, and protect her and make her life easy, and give her time and love and everything in the world she could wish for—But I dared not say anything, and she hung back again a little, and once more it made the conversation difficult—and when we reached a sheltered spot by the "point du jour" I felt there was a sort of armour around her, and that it would be wiser to go straight to work and not talk further to-day.
She went directly from the parc to catch her train at five o'clock—and I was wheeled back to the hotel.
And now I have the evening alone before me—but the day is distinctly a step onward in the friendship line.