Miss Sharp suddenly dropped her dark blue parasol and bent to pick it up
again--and as she did she changed the conversation by remarking that
there were an unusual quantity of aeroplanes buzzing from Buc.
This was unlike her--I cannot think why she did so. I wanted to steer
her back to the subject of Versailles and its meaning--.
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.