The Argosy — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

Number Twenty-five. OI “Vou find it dull?” I inquired. “Well, I suppose, considering the circumstances” (this with a simper)—‘“‘that’s a shocking thing to say, but I do. I couldn’t imagine why Claude brought me to such a dull hole, after Paris, but he heard that his father and sister, that’s Lord Rotherwode and the Honourable Cecilia Saxon, were to be at Boatstown this month. They were all against his marriage, you know, but he says when they see me”—she paused in modest confusion, while I made the appro- priate rejoinder, and continued: ‘‘ They were very rude about my poor dear first husband having made his money in trade. As if it mattered ! and my papa can never forgive dear Claude having been a little wild and extravagant, like all the aristocracy. Ah, I’ve a deal to put up with, Mr. Sherratt.” I was wondering how far her confidences would carry her, when I saw the unpleasant-faced chambermaid pass the door and take a rapid survey of us all in a second’s glance. ‘‘' There, that’s another of my troubles. My maid left for some ridiculous reason, and didn’t Claude go and arrange for ¢Aat woman to attend on me while I’m here! A hateful creature, always prowling about and spying after me.” She looked at my sketch uneasily. ‘“‘T was going to ask your leave to keep it,” I said, evidently much to her relief. ‘‘ I shan’t show it to anyone till it’s finished.” ¢ How I wish Dooly could have seen it,” she said suddenly, in quite a different tone to her usual affectedone. ‘‘ He would be pleased. ‘Pity mamma’ he always calls me. I mean Julius, my little son. He is just three years old and such a dear, wee fellow. He lives with my papa, but is to come to us, of course, when we are in our own house. I’m his sole guardian. Poor dear Perryman trusted me absolutely, and I say papa has no right to talk of making him a ward in Chancery.” I was struck by the change for the better in her manner when her child was mentioned. There was a ring of genuine motherly feeling in her sharp voice, and almost an expression of interest in her doll’s face. I don’t know what instinct made me cut the interview as short as I civilly could. As I made my way down the corridor to my room I caught a glimpse of a hard, white face and a pair of bold black eyes scanning me from the gloom of an open doorway—No, 25. I returned the stare with interest, and the woman vanished. Next morning, Sunday, there was an imposing muster of the faith- ful, in tall hats and long coats or gorgeous church-going bonnets, as the case might be, in the hall of the Imperial. I, conscious of a rough suit and soft felt hat, waited till the worshippers and their prayer- books should have cleared off, before starting on a reckless Sabbath- breaking tramp through the woods. Down the staircase rustled Mrs. Loseby with much gleam of satin and clatter of bangles. She stopped half way and looked about, eagerly, I fancied, till she spied me. She beckoned me and spoke over the banisters. CON @) lNOOKS.,.EO