Maurice brought Miss Sharp to-day to interview me. I do not like her
much, but the exhibition she gave me of her speed and accuracy in
short-hand satisfied me and made me see that I should be a fool to look
further. So I have engaged her. She is a small creature, palish with
rather good bright brown hair--She wears horn rimmed spectacles with
yellow glasses in them so I can't see her eyes at all. I judge people by
their eyes. Her hands look as if she had done rather a lot of hard
work--they are so very thin. Her clothes are neat but shabby--that is
not the last look like French women have--but as if they had been turned
to "make do"--I suppose she is very poor. Her manner is icily quiet. She
only speaks when she is spoken to. She is quite uninteresting.
It is better for me to have a nonentity--then I can talk aloud my
thoughts without restriction. I am to give her double what she is
getting now--2000 francs a month--war price.
Some colour came into her cheeks when I offered that and she hesitated, I said "Don't you think it is enough?"
She answered so queerly.
"I think it is too much, and I was wondering if I would be able to
accept it. I want to."
"Then do."
"Very well--I will of course do my very best to earn it"--and with that
she bowed and left me.
Anyhow she won't make a noise.
Nina writes since she has married Jim--which she did just before the
offensive in March--she has been too happy--or too anxious, to remember
her friends--even dear old ones--but now fortunately Jim is wounded in
the ankle bone which will keep him at home for two months so she has a
little leisure.
"You can't think, Nicholas, what a different aspect the whole war took
on when I knew Jim was in the front line--I adore him--and up to now I
have managed to keep him adoring me--but I can see I'll have to be
careful if he is going to be with me long at a time."
So it would seem that Nina had not obtained the rest and security she
hoped for.
I hope my writing a book will rest me. I have arranged all my first
chapter in my head--and to-morrow I begin.
June 26th--Miss Sharp came punctually at ten--she had a black and
white cotton frock on--There is nothing of her--she is so slight--(a
mass of bones probably in evening dress--but thank goodness I shall not
see her in evening dress,) she goes at six--She is to have her lunch
here--Burton has arranged it. An hour off for lunch which she can have
on a tray in the small salon, which I have had arranged for her work
room.--Of course it won't take her an hour to eat--but Burton says she
must have that time, it is always done. It is a great nuisance for
perhaps when 12:30 comes I shall just be in the middle of an inspiration
and I suppose off she'll fly like the housemaids used when the servants'
hall bell went at home. But I can't say anything.