The Argosy — page 258: what you’re looking at

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

My Furst Fee. 239 felt sure it #wst be that, and then I thought perhaps you would think us impostors, and I knew you would be too much of a gentleman to mention it, and so—do you think I was wrong?—I came off with Mrs. Brown this morning, and made up my mind I woud explain the mistake, only it was so dreadful. But I don’t mind now that you look so kind about it. And then would you do mea gveat favour, Dr. Merrifield? Would you mind not appearing to know anything about it, or that I came, or axzything, because papa doesn’t know I am out; he is not down yet; and he would be so distressed, he might never come again, and I should be so sorry, as you suit him exactly.” ‘Pray don’t call this a favour,” I said, as gravely as I could. “I think you will believe me when I say that, without even knowing your wishes on the subject, I should never have mentioned the—the lozenge.” “T don’t know dow to thank you! Now I must go.” And then Miss Dillon put that small gloved hand into her muff and drew it out again, holding it out towards me once more, and this time I felt a little square bit of paper in my hand. Somehow, our eyes met, and in spite of the gravity of the occasion we both laughed, feeling, I am sure, we should never again be afraid of each other, as she said: ‘Please, Dr. Merrifield, don’t laugh at me. Is this the right way to give a fee, because I must tell you this is the first time in my life I have ever had to give one. I suppose some day I shall be ill and want a doctor, but I never, never have wanted to go to one before. And it wasn’t for myself this time, was it? you will bear witness—I mean, I hope you won’t ever mention it: good-bye. Now, Brown, I am ready.” And just as a ray of sunshine sometimes comes into one’s room, glimmers, dances and illuminates the place for a time, and then suddenly disappears, so Lucia Dillon had come and gone, and that noisy four-wheeler took off my vision of fair hair, leaving me with a golden sovereign and a new shilling wrapped in a small half sheet of paper, on the top of which was stamped the address of their London house. I folded that piece of paper and put it away in a pocket-book among my treasures, such as my dear mother’s first letter to me at school, and the flower that a little girl of seven years old had dropped when I, a nine-year old urchin, had fallen desperately in love with her. There was nothing there unworthy to lie next to the paper which Lucia Dillon’s fingers had touched. Later in the day I received a note from Mr. Dillon, begging me, if I were not too much engaged, to come and see him, as he felt very unwell. And if I would do him the great favour of dining and spending the evening with them, he would be very grateful, for he saw so few people on account of his wretched constitution. Well, I went, and spent a very happy evening. It was only the first of many more, at least during this first season. But Mr. Dillon was as good as his word; from the day of his first visit my practice slowly GOnlGaooks (C©)