The Argosy — page 64: what you’re looking at

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54 Molly at the ‘ Mitre.” parcel of papers he said he had dropped previous. Gentleman didn’t find the papers, Miss, and seemed very much put out; said if any of your party had seen them would you kindly send a mes- sage, as they was of great importance?” Molly leant against the staircase and wrote a few words on the back of acard of Jack’s with the little pencil that hung at her chain: “I put your papers for safety at the back of the chiffonier in the ‘ Mitre’ coffee-room window. Can you fetch them?” Then, doubling the card in two, she directed it to G. Ransome, Esq., Magdalen College. “Can you send someone at once with this to Magdalen? I won't send the papers, as they are valuable ; but I have told the gentleman that they are safe, and he can fetch them. Please let there be no delay, as the papers are of importance.” For a third time that day, George Ransome ran up the stairs of the “Mitre.” He did not tap at the door, for every visitor in Oxford was away in the Long Walk, but walked boldly into the half- dark room, skirting the chairs which stood about in disorder, by the faint light which came from the gas of the dining-room. Between the curtains which divided the two rooms, waiters were darting to and fro with preparations for the dinners which would all be wanted simul- taneously in half an hour; but the sitting-room was quite empty, the windows open, the whole place bearing the air of having served its purpose. He groped round the large table to the little group of chairs by the window where he and Molly had sat that afternoon. Chiffonier? There had been a chiffonier somewhere in the corner, he believed, but where on earth was it now? George Ransome was not in the pleasantest of moods, and every fresh little check irritated him almost beyond endurance. He had meant, after his interview with Molly, to fling himself into his work and slave like a horse ; even that consolation had been denied him through the loss of his papers. He pushed a chair hastily aside, and felt about tentatively in the gloom. ‘Confound the chiffonier ; it ought to be there. I must strike a match.” And then his fingers came in contact with something soft, and he jumped back, hastily apologising. “I beg a thousand pardons ; I did not know anyone was there!” ‘Have you come to look for your books, Mr. Ransome?” “Molly! Is it you?” “Yes.” For her life Molly could not think of anything else to say ; no smart repartee ; no sarcastic reminder that her acquaintances generally called her Miss Verey. TI thought you were away at the river. What has brought you back by you'self? Are you ill?” “No, Iam not ill—at least, only a little tired.” She could not resist the anxious tenderness of his tone, and her voice was so thin comicbooks.com