The Argosy — page 253: what you’re looking at

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

234 Mrs. Carr's Compamon. It was certainly more by good luck than good guiding that the breakfast got itself prepared. As it was, the Archdeacon swallowed, without a murmur, a double portion of sugar in his tea, while Thorold drank his coffee sugarless without even discovering the ‘fact. There was sweetness enough in his cup that morning. Only Lady Mary’s meal was entirely satisfactory, being carefully arranged by Viola (who, alas! had no lover at hand to distract her thoughts), and eaten in the seclusion of her own room, apart from the bouleversement of idea which disturbed the others’ serenity. Lady Mary had had time to arrange herself leisurely in the hand- some morning wrapper which dignified her ‘convalescence, before a knock at the door announced Olive ; Olive roused out of her usual calm to a flutter of nervous tremblings and blushings, which sat well upon her. She came behind her mother’s chair and tenderly kissed the broad, fair brow, then waited in silence. ‘Well, Olive, what is it? I see you have something to say to me.” , ‘Mamma, Mr. Thorold came here this morning.” ‘Ves? I thought he was going—or gone.” ‘He has asked me to be his wife.” ‘And go to Canada!” “No; his work lies in England for the future, for he is chosen architect of the new Government buildings.” ‘¢ And what was your answer, Olive?” “Mamma! what could I say but ‘Yes!’” came the confession, with averted face. Lady Mary felt a strange dryness in her throat, and for a moment found a difficulty in swallowing. She paused to smooth back the lace of her wrapper before she spoke again, and in the pause the last and proudest of her castles in the air came tumbling in ruins about her. ‘Come here, Olive, where I can see you.” She obeyed, and coming, knelt silently beside her mother. A glance at the happy, blushing, upturned face told Lady Mary all she needed to know. She took it between her hands caressingly, and smiled, and sighed. “Ah, well! It is not what I once hoped, but I always liked him ; that is one comfort. And I see how it is with you, Olive.” ‘‘ Mother, he is so good, so noble—has borne so patiently with all my folly and perversity! Oh, I don’t deserve to be so happy !” If her mother and uncle were less happy than Olive herself in the prospect before her, they did not distress her with impotent regrets. When she had endured with what patience she might one of Mrs. Carr’s philippics, setting forth the folly of preferring an obscure archi- tect to an eligible like Theodore Raleigh (she happened to be in one of her bitter moods), and when she had perused a severe remon- strance, filling two sheets of letter-paper, penned by her uncle, Lord Gomicbooks (Ele) m