The Argosy — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

52 Molly at the ‘‘ Mitre.” feeling in her throat, and the High Street, on which she still looked down, had grown misty and dim. As she turned back again to Lady Bussell and the “ Mitre” sitting- room and every-day life, her eyes lit ona little parcel of papers and books fastened with a strap. It had not been there before, she was certain. George Ransome must have put it down at the back of his chair when he first came in, and forgotten it when he left. In a moment Molly had slipped it into the folds of her grey jacket which lay beside her. She had thought all communication between herself and George was at end ; done to death by the inexplicable un- ruliness of her own foolish tongue, which had played her heart so false. Yet here was a straw floating up out of the deep waters which she thought, in the ready despair of nineteen, had gone over her soul. “Come, come, Molly!” called Lady Bussell from the door ; “ Jack is waiting. Take care how you come down these uneven stairs. Bring a shawl or something ; the evenings get chilly by the river.” But Molly was stuffing the grey jacket to the very back ot the rickety little chiffonier, behind a pile of old Graphics and a cruet- stand which had been pensioned off as an ornament. And when she ran after her Aunt, her cheeks were pink enough to support the asser- tion that she found it stiflingly hot and extra wraps were unnecessary. But two hours afterwards, Lady Bussell’s words came true, as they very often did and as she never failed to point out to her audience. It asd become very chilly down by the river. Harry Hayward's hospitality of scalding tea as black as Stockholm tar, strawberries forced at Coombe and forwarded for the occasion, and cakes of all sorts: from the humble “ mixed biscuit” to the richest plum, against which even Molly’s despair was not proof: had been dispensed to the accompaniment of much laughter. Harry, in his capacity of host, could not devote himself entirely to Molly. Lady Bussell’s physical and Flo Bussell’s intellectual require- ments had to be attended to. But the young men who made up the party saw well enough how the land lay to mutter among themselves : ** Lucky fellow, Hayward, with a girl like that chosen for him, and @ governor, all smiles, waiting to bless him and set him up in life.” And they addressed Molly with a sort of awed admiration which flattered Hayward not a little. Molly herself thought them all pleasant young men, but woefully youthful. She asked them questions and tried to listen to the answers ; sugared their tea and did her best to give that beverage a feminine flavour ; treated her host exactly as she did her brother - Jack. But all the time her mind was revolving round that little parcel of papers lying at the back of the chiffonier at the ‘ Mitre” “under the folds of her tweed jacket : the tiny raft which fate had sent ‘her and on which she must contrive to launch her last hope. { comicbooke.com