She ate a peach--and I do hope she liked it--but she refused a cigarette
when I offered her one--.
"I don't smoke."
"Oh, I am so sorry I did not know--" and I put out mine.
"You need not do that--I don't mind other people smoking, so long as I
need not do it myself."
I re-lit another one--.
"Do you know--I believe I shall have my new eye put in before
Christmas!" I told her just before she rose from the table--and for the
first time I have known her, the faintest smile came round her mouth--a
kindly smile--.
--"I am so very glad," she said.
And all over me there crept a thrill of pleasure.
After lunch I suggested the parc, and that I should dictate in some
lovely cool spot. She made no objection, and immediately put on her
hat--a plain dark blue straw. She walked a little behind my bath chair
as we turned out of the Reservoires courtyard and began ascending the
avenue in the parc, so that I could not converse with her. By the time
we had reached the parterre I called to her-"Miss Sharp"-She advanced and kept beside me--.
"Does not this place interest you awfully?" I hazarded.
"Yes."
"Do you know it well?"
"Yes."
"What does it say to you?"
"It is ever a reminder of what to avoid."
"What to avoid! but it is perfectly beautiful. Why should you want to
avoid beauty?!"
"I do not--it is what this was meant to stand for and what human beings
failed in allowing it to do--that is the lesson."
I was frightfully interested.
"Tell me what you mean?"
"The architects were great, the king's thought was great--but only in
one way--and everyone--the whole class--forgot the real meaning of
noblesse oblige, and abused their power--and so the revolution swept
them away--They put false value upon everything--false values upon birth
and breeding--and no value upon their consequent obligations, or upon
character--."
"You believe in acknowledging your obligations I know"
-"Yes--I hope so--Think in that palace the immense importance which was
given to etiquette and forms and ceremonies--and to a quite ridiculous
false sense of honour--they could ruin their poor tradesmen and--yet--."
"Yes"--I interrupted--"it was odd, wasn't it?--a gentleman was still a
gentleman, never paying his tailor's bills--but ceased to be one if he
cheated at cards--."