"A-hem"—Burton croaked.

I repeated the question.

"The young lady works very regular."

"Yes—That is just it—a kind of a machine."

"She earns her money Sir Nicholas."

"Of course she does—I know all that—But what do you think of her?"

"Beg pardon Sir Nicholas—I don't understand?"

I felt irritated.50

50

"Of course you do—What kind of a creature I mean—?"

"The young lady don't chatter Sir—She don't behave like bits of girls."

"You approve of her then Burton?"

"She's been here a fortnight only, Sir Nicholas, you can't tell in the time"—and that is all I could get out of him—but I felt the verdict when he did give it would be favourable.

Insignificant little Miss Sharp—!

What shall I do with my day—? that is the question—my rotten useless idle day?—I have no more inspiration for my book—besides Miss Sharp has to type the long chapter I gave her yesterday. I wonder if she knows anything about William and Mary furniture really?—she never launches a remark.

Her hands are very red these last days—does making bandages redden the hands?

I wonder what colour her eyes are—one can't tell with that blurred yellow glass—.

Suzette came in just as I wrote that; she seldom turns up in the afternoon. She caught sight of Miss Sharp typing through the open door.

"Tiens!" she spit at me—"Since when?"

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