The story of Tomaso and Lucilla now went bravely on, with enough
groundwork of foreign land for the characters to stand on, and I tried
very hard to keep my mind on the writing of my book and away from its
writer. Outwardly I may have appeared to succeed fairly well in this
purpose, but inwardly the case was different. However, if I could
suppress any manifestations of my emotions, I told myself, I ought to be
satisfied.
A few mornings after the recommencement of the dictation I was a little
late in entering my study, and I found my secretary already at the table
in the anteroom. In answer to my morning salutation she merely bowed,
and sat ready for work. She did not even offer to read what she had last
written. This surprised me. Was she resenting what she might look upon
as undue stiffness and reserve? If so, I was very sorry, but at the same
time I would meet her on her own ground. If she chose to return to her
old rigidity, I would accept the situation, and be as formal as she
liked.
More than this, I began to feel a little resentment. I would revert not
only to my former manner, but to my former matter. I would wind up that
love-story, and confine myself to the subject of foreign travel.
Acting on this resolution, I made short work of Tomaso and Lucilla.
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