She bit her lip and frowned. The note was useless and tactless as well.
If he had wished to please her he might have written a word of
greeting, as if nothing had happened, just to say that he wished he
could have seen her for a few minutes. It would have been so easy to do
that instead of sending a superfluous apology for having been rude on
purpose! She read the note again and grew angry over it. It was so
gratuitous! If he really meant to avoid her always, he need not have
written at all. 'Superfluous' was the word; it was superfluous. She
tore the letter into little bits and threw them into the basket; and
then, by an afterthought, she fished up Logotheti's note, which she had
not torn, and read it again.
At all events, he was a man of the world and could cover two pages of
note-paper without saying anything that could irritate a woman. Like
everything he said, what he wrote was just right. He did not protest
that he could not use his motor car himself, and he did not apologise
for taking the liberty of offering her the use of it; he did not even
ask for an answer, as if he were trying to draw her into writing to
him. The car would be at the gate, and he would be glad if she could
use it; meaning that if she did not want it she could send it away.
There was not the least shade of familiarity in the phrases.
'Respectful homage' was certainly not 'familiar.' Just because he did
not ask for an answer, he should have one!
She took up her pen and began. When she had written three or four lines
to thank him, she found herself going on to say more, and she told him
of the change in regard to her début, and asked if he knew why it
was made so suddenly. She explained why she preferred Faust to
Rigoletto, and all at once she saw that she had filled a sheet and
must either break off abruptly or take another. She finished the note
hastily and signed her name. When it was done she remembered that she
had not told him anything about the money which had unexpectedly come
to her, and she hesitated a moment; but she decided that it was none of
his business, and almost wondered why she had thought of telling him
anything so entirely personal. She sealed the letter, stamped it and
sent it to be posted.
Then she sat down at her piano to look over Rigoletto, whistling her
part softly while she played, in order to save her voice, and in a few
minutes she had forgotten Logotheti, Schreiermeyer and Lushington.