The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 2 — page 78: what you’re looking at

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

260 THE ‘“ You didn’t answer my letters, Ellen,” he reproached her. “ Why, please?”’ “T don’t quite know. Partly, perhaps, because I was ashamed—’” Holt’s fine eyes kindled. “Ashamed? You never did a finer, sweeter, or more womanly thing in your life than when you sent a miserable, reck- less, desperate poor devil of a soldier lad away with the feeling that some one cared. Dear, your face was before me every moment of that wretched hike through hostile regions. I thought of you day and night, and if the Mexs had done for me, I’d have gone out of life with your name on my lips—by the bye, just what 7s your name, Ellen—the rest of it, IT mean?” “ Ellen Lloyd Hibbard,” she informed him smilingly. ‘“ And speaking of names, the Lieutenant Hereward Holt who was killed—?” Holt laughed. “You confused me with him? So did lots of others. Gallant chap!’—his face sobered a little. “‘ Met death as an officer and gentleman should. But he wasn’t even a connection of mine, I’m sorry to say.” “T thought—” Ellen began and stopped. “T see! You thought I was a bene- dick—and incidentally a liar and a cad. I can’t wonder you didn’t write, if you could believe that of me!” “Tt wasn’t that,” she protested; “‘ at first I was ashamed—and uncertain—and later I thought you were dead.” The shudder that shook her slim form was il- luminative. ‘‘ And when-I learned that Howard Holt was alive, and—pardon!— a hero, I did write. I told you I'd done you an injustice, and that I was sorry and ashamed. Perhaps they’ll forward my letter from the border—”’ “T’ll wire ’em they’d better, if they don’t,” he smiled. ‘“ I’ve waited a long time for that letter, and it’s due me, if I have to upset the entire «service to get it.” “Tt wasn’t much of a letter,” she con- ARGOSY. fessed, *“‘ but I was remorseful at having doubted you—” ‘Then you don’t any longer? trust me fully?” ‘S Well—within certain limits,’ she con- ceded. “Then you'll believe me when I tell you again that I’ve thought of nothing but you since we parted. You were with me like a visible presence when I looked death in the face—death in a mighty un- pleasant form it promised to be;- and I somehow had the feeling—foolish, you’ll say—that it was you who guided me back to camp. Ellen, I know this sounds like Davis melodrama or magazine-story gush, but—it’s straight. If you’ll give me a chance to prove—”’ “All right, Miss Hibbard,” an inky copy-boy looked in to observe. Ellen picked up a sheaf of typed mat- ter and put it in his hand, flushing at sight of the wise, old grin on his weaz- ened face, as he knowingly eyed her visitor. ‘I’m through for the day,” she sighed with an air of relief. ‘‘ Suppose we get out into the open. I’ve sweltered here You since nine.” “My car’s down-stairs,’ he said. “We'll *have dinner somewhere _ to- gether—”’ Ellen shook her head decidedly. ‘We won’t,” she said positively; “ it wouldn’t be fair to your father on your first evening here. You must take me home.” , “All right,” he smiled, “ there are other evenings—to-morrow evening, for in- stance. We'll celebrate then. Now we’ll take a little run and then—” “Home,” repeated Ellen, with Spartan firmness. She mentioned the address, ‘Just a tiny spin first,” he insisted with equal firmness, “‘ and then I’ll take you home. Get you there by six-thirty at latest. But,” he added significantly, as the powerful car shot forward, “I warn you, Ellen, that some day pretty soon I mean to take you home—for keeps—with me!”’ Go NOO|KS (C@