The Argosy — page 386: what you’re looking at

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

366 Beatrix. not? But next time I will try and manage better. Good-bye, my pet, I will write the very moment I get there.” “If you do not, I will never forgive you,” Beatrix said. ‘I shall be so anxious to hear of your safe arrival. And now you are quite sure you are sufficiently careful about your throat, George?” standing on tip-toe to run her fingers lovingly round his neck, to see if he was well cared for, and to the great detriment of his collar (Curzon ground his teeth). ‘‘ Because you should remember your last illness, you know, and you always @7ve so careless.” . ‘‘Not I. There is no fear of me, believe me. But now good-bye indeed, for the last time, my darling; I must be off.” Whereupon Beatrix raised her face and kissed him, seemingly with all her heart. It was enough. Sickened, and frantic with rage and grief, Curzon turned away, walking once more in the direction of his home. Bitter anger was at his heart. But when he had walked about half-way, he came to a sudden stand- still, and began to think rapidly: the result of whicl thinking brought him back again to Fenton at once and on to the same grass-plot where he had so signalized himself in the morning’s encounter. Miss Beatrix Falkland was there before him, with an enormous watering-pot in her hand, and did not look as much cut-up as she ough? to have looked, considering the parting scene she had just gone through. ‘‘Good evening,” she said, with a certain amount of ill-disguised awkwardness that only added to her charms, and flushing crimson. She was thinking of the morning’s work, you see, but he was not, and so put down the pretty blushing and awkwardness to another cause altogether. He made no return whatever to her civil greeting, but began his mission at once, without any preliminaries. ‘‘So you have got a lover,” he said, with the most touching attempt at calmness. ‘‘I suppose I ought to congratulate you, Beatrix, but somehow I feel the words would choke me. Felicia has thrown me over of her own accord, and I came down here this evening to tell you so, thinking in my mad folly that perhaps you might care to hear it. But I confess I scarcely expected to find you in the arms of a stranger.” Here he paused for a moment. ‘Good gracious!” exclaimed Miss Falkland from the opposite side of a flower-bed, composed of scarlet geraniums and yellow calceolarias, that glowed with brilliant warmth in the deepening twilight. She was frightened, dismayed at his vehemence, and just a little angry. ‘‘ At least you might have told me,” Curzon went on. “ You talk of honour, but I think it would have been more honourable, of. you had you told me of this months ago—before I was hopelessly in love with ECoOMmicloooks (C(O) in —_)