The Argosy, August 1905 — page 76: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

» 4 .* le a. — . ¢ ae hi *« — ry ~ % He laughed. “That's the woman of it. To forget is a man’s creed—he has to, he lives so intensely; there are some things it doesn’t do to remember. So he smokes a cigar or plays a game, and the ghost is gone. It’s as easy as that, Elmor! Tl teach you lots of things.” She watched his eyes, his lips, as a mother might watch a son grown up and come home aiter many” years. They were familiar, and yet new. He had the same’ trick of smiling, the same nervous gesture of, pushing back the waves of his hair; but the boyish look she remembered was gone. His chin had grown harder, his eyes more restless. As he looked back at her he drew her suddenly to her feet. ** Let me see you from all points,” he said. “ You're not pretty any longer, Elinor—you are beautiful; only your mouth is too sad. That’s right, smile. Do you know, Ive a queer feeling with you—as if I were giving my recording angel an account of my sins. You wouldn’t know if I skipped any, would you?” She shook her head. “Oh, you've been good, Lloyd—you haye—lI’ve-ealways wanted you to be. It was the one prayer I could pray—I couldn’t ask to have you back. I could on|y——” She paused, her eyes moist at the re- membrance of those nightly vigils, those tearless petitions coupled with his un- spoken name. His expression changed slightly; his eyes looked away from her. “ Would it have made any difference pe he said carelessly, “if I hadn’t been good?” She sent him a startled smile. “ Why, Lloyd * she began. Suddenly he faced her. . “ Elinor, if I didn’t want you so much I'd make a clean breast of it all—not that there is so much to tell; one or two dark spots, besetting sins and so forth.” He rose, walking nervously up and down the room. She sat watching him with parted lips, her eyes troubled. __ Her silence brought him back to her sn _ . aes ie ee * 7 oe * THE ARGOSY. Z - + *, The intensity of her gaze softened. “Oh,” she said, “how careless of me.” Her voice was a trifle con- — strained. “ We dine at seven—itmust — be nearly that now. Father is away; — there’s nobody but me—we can have it together.” : It was with a feeling of relief she led the way into the dining-room. The _ hour had been so vital to them both. She seated herself opposite him at the round table. Under the light of the chandelier his face looked older, with darkened lines under the eyes. In spite of herself, she felt that she was watching him—watch- ine for something she missed. There was an intangible difference that threat- ened to level their love down to mere acquaintanceship. One cannot love the unknown. Afterward, when they were back again in the lamp-hghted room, she knew. It was the space between, un- accounted for—a shadow that stretched over that backward way, covering a great void. Her hands on the cushioned arm of her chair trembled. He’seemed sud- denly a thing apart, clothed with a ter- rible strangeness—the strangeness of change—of subtraction, of multiplica- tion, of addition. With a sudden fear she turned grop- ingly to the-past to drag from it some familiar sign, some bit of common sod on which their feet could rest together. She leaned toward him appealingly. “ Lloyd, do you remember that day at Medwood, years ago, when you were jealous of old Mr. Olliver? He died last month! ” ? He lit a cigar, casting the burned-out match carelessly away from him. del “You seem mightily concerned,” he said; “ perhaps I was right in being jeal- ous. But I shouldn’t be now.” “ Wouldn’t you?” she asked, He laughed. “Not a bit! Not after the look of sons eyes when I came to-night. It made you mine forever— rave self up” ee She drew back. : > . “One never gives oneself quite up: a comicbooks.com