The Argosy — page 371: what you’re looking at

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

Sabrina. 299 I was sorry he chose that, for it was a voice to articulate what was to her as vague as the music of the reed before Pan blew into it. ‘The very ways where now we walk apart.” He paused. Sabrina was looking into the river with wistful eyes and lips covered with her hand; her breath deepened into a sigh. I hoped Miles would not look at her. If only———a shower of leaves descended with a chorus of elfish laughter. “ Here we are again! Stolen a march on you. Ha, ha!” Three of the boys had run on before us and hidden themselves in the trees. Miles sprang up and sent them away; they went grumbling, and we were once more at peace. But the spell was broken ; we read no more, but talked instead; at least, Miles and I did. For the first, and as yet for the last time, I was glad to see and hear those boys. III. THE picture, the bright summer weather, the cool gloom of our garret, the white lilies, John, Margery, and those boys, even Miles, had faded into the background : for the fresh September days had brought Sabrina and myself to my doll’s apartment in Paris. There are thousands of such tiny nests scattered through Paris, where newly-married couples, old maids and widows, may live and even sweeten life with many small pleasures. My house consisted of three rooms and a very small kitchen; a kitchen in the bud, as it were, for it was a tight fit for two slender persons. The three rooms opened into each other, the one in the centre being our sitting-room. This latter I had made into a gem of pretti- ness, for I could afford some small luxuries. The carpet was soft and green, to imitate moss; the sofa and chairs were easy, meet for tired hmbs ; the curtains were green, with a tracery of red-brown vine-leaves to match the walls. In the window was a stand of wild ferns, with a scarlet geranium in the midst, which filled the eye like a flame amid the quietness of its surroundings. A wire basket hung above this, filled with smaller ferns and long trails of ivy, which were reflected in the mirror opposite. In the bedrooms we had Indian matting and soft rugs; there were silk “edredons” on the beds, and writing tables with a plant on each. One half of the kitchen was filled by a tiled fireplace, in whose square holes we were adepts at lighting charcoal fires. We hada “femme de ménage ” who was‘ supposed to come and prepare our meals, but woe to the person who puts faith in a ‘femme de ménage.” So we often put on gloves and lighted our charcoal for our café-au-lait. Our good concierge (an exception to the rule) would often bring our dinner from a neighbouring restaurant. CORnICclooo SS (GO)