The Argosy — page 265: what you’re looking at

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

246 Winifred Power. ‘Tt was out of repair,” responded Sir John, still more briefly than before. ‘Then lying back in his chair, he gently closed his eyes, raised his beard to a picturesque angle, and put his white hand feebly to his heart. “Oh, he is ill!” cried Florence, and flew to his side. ‘“* Wau-de-Cologne,” exclaimed Dolly, and vanished in search of it. Mark, with an air of concern which yet had something perplexed about it, quietly opened a window and then approached the invalid. He knew that these attacks might mean mischief. Sir John waved his disengaged hand slightly. ‘‘ No fuss, I beg,” he murmured. ‘‘’The paroxysm is not severe ; it will pass.” Apparently in afew moments it did pass, for Sir John’s fingers quitted his heart, and he motioned to them to take seats. Which they did. And although he still sat with closed eyes, his family’s feelings were sufficiently relieved to enable them to converse, in subdued tones, on indifferent subjects. Mrs. Fane condescended to talk to Dolly and Florence, in this way leaving Winifred practically téte-a-téte with Mark. The girl secretly a little attracted by his grave but gentle manner, began describing in a very animated and charming way, a certain eccentric bibliophile whom she had known in Paris. This old man had talked to her by the hour on his beloved subject, enlarging on his frequent visits to the Quais, his baffled longings, his deluded hopes, his rare trouvailles of precious books which had escaped the lynx eyes of dealers. He told her how he had journeyed to Toulouse to see the collection of Count M’Carthy, and to Padua, there silently to adore a ‘Catullus” on vellum. He abounded in anecdotes of book col- lectors, past and present, from Bussy-Rabutin to Charles Nodier, and revelled in recounting how many tens of pounds, more or less, depended upon an infinitesimal difference in the margins of an Elzevir. “ What a delightful old monomaniac!” said Mark, looking with pleased interest at his companion’s sparkling face. ‘‘ My father has not nearly so muchenthusiasm. ‘That is, I suppose he has it, but he does not show it.” As he pronounced these words, it did not escape his hearer’s quick observation that there was a subtle change in his voice, and a curious unwilling doubt in the glance that he directed towards the venerable head in the velvet cap. ‘“ Has Sir John a catalogue of his books?” Winifred presently asked, her eyes ranging along the well-filled shelves. “No, indeed. It isa great want. He is always saying he must invite some capable person down to make one.” “Then I know the very person for him,” exclaimed Winifred impulsively. ‘‘ Poor Dick Dallas.” ‘““And who is Dick Dallas?” asked Mark. “And why is he ‘poor? EORNIE OOO KS (E(0) m