The Argosy — page 211: what you’re looking at

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

A Marriage from the Stage. 197 the drawing-room floor the ill-used pocket-handkerchief, kiss it, and put it carefully in one of his pockets, before catching up a shawl and following his mistress. That evening Raughan remarked: ‘“‘ We—you—must be dull here, Claudia ; a little excitement would do you good. I think of taking you up to town fora month or so, and looking up my old friends there. What do you say P” Claudia felt as if a weight were lifted off her heart. Here was her husband proposing to take her away from that woman! After all, he could not be so fond of her society ! ““Mrs. Brunswold is going at the end of the month,” Arthur added, with his usual want of taste. Detestable woman! Mrs.’ Raughan remembered the scrap of conversation she had overheard. Arthur might surely have done without the widow’s society for a short time ; he had met her a hundred times already in the hunting field. “Well?” asked Raughan, raising his eyebrows. ‘What do you say, Claudia?” ‘I am not used to English society,” murmured she. ‘TI should even prefer remaining here.” And a tear stood on her lashes. ‘** Even here!” echoed Raughan. “ It seems to me that your reply to all questions is the same: ‘I am not used to this or that!’ I wish you would get used to something.” And he got up and made towards the door, frowning petulantly. The pent-up anguish of Claudia’s soul burst out at last. For more than three months she had been almost neglected by him; and after all he had promised, after all she had sacrificed ! “You are tired of me, Arthur,” she exclaimed impetuously, rush- ing to the root of the matter with the determination of real despair. “IT cannot bear this systematic coldness.” She placed her hand upon the door and held the other towards him. If this appeal had been made in Florence, in those bright and happy days when love was to last for ever and truth was as clear as glass, he would have wept for joy; now it seemed ridiculous and tiresome. ‘Have you no pity for me, Arthur? Am I nothing to you?” she still entreated, as he kept silence, staring at her in surprise. “I have no one in the world but you!” And she attempted to take his hand. All her pride was gone; the gulf between them must be carried at any hazard, even if it meant humiliation and disappointment. “Let me pass, please,” retorted Arthur at last, coolly. ‘Your behaviour is theatrical.” “No,” she exclaimed passionately, catching his hands in spite of this stinging sarcasm. “ You kill me with this neglect.” And she bent so low that her head rested on his arm. “Neglect? Nonsense, Claudia! Your foolishness is extravagant. Do you expect a man to spend his life in love-making? I thought we had quietly settled down to make the best of our mutual posiiion. x Soimietotss.<5i