The Argosy — page 262: what you’re looking at

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

On the River. 243 charm of their ov. when uttered in that low musical murmur. In fact, a drawing-room pet of the nineteenth century, such as one meets with here and there in the course of every season. Of a very different type is Leslie Grahame, the man who, standing in the doorway, has been listening to the careless remarks of a gossiping acquaintance. Of Scottish descent, and with the rugged cast of features common to that nation, he might, except for his commanding height, pass unnoticed in the crowd assembled at Lady Hetherington’s At Home. But probably, on an Aldershot field-day, a spectator would pick out the cavalry officer who sits his horse so gallantly (though three fingers of his bridle-hand are gone, and he is fain to wind the charger’s reins round his wrist) as an object of curiosity. For do not other medals, besides those so lately won in Egypt, decorate his breast: and is there not some tale of heroism and danger, almost unparalleled in modern annals, connected with the Cross earned at Ulundi? Blanche Elliot, keen-witted in reading countenances, has singled him out this evening, and appeals to Vane with a half-conscious laugh. ‘‘Pray who is that stern-looking man leaning against the door? He appears to take an interest in me—this is the second time I have caught him gazing this way.” “Ts that so remarkable? I should have thought the occurrence too frequent and natural to attract your attention—although it zs rather wonderful for Colonel Grahame to condescend to notice any- one. His head is usually in the clouds.” “He looks out of place here—and feels it. See, he is ‘sloping off,’ as you say. Grahame—I remember the name—a V.C., is he not?” “Just so. A great hero in his way, but not a very amusing companion in ordinary life. I only know him by sight however. But tell me once more: when and where am I to see you again ?” Miss Elliot is playing with her fan, and contrives with it to hide the colour that for a moment overspreads her face at this question. As she remains silent, he repeats it more eagerly. “You know my hours—I always ride in the evening during this hot weather—six to eight. I shall probably do so to-morrow.” To-morrow!” Vane’s handsome face betrays evident dis- turbance. ‘‘I am afraid I shall be out of town. Very provoking— an old engagement with a relation.” ‘““Why stoop to prevarication, Sir Reginald ?” Blanche has risen now, and her dark eyes are flashing. ‘‘ You are your own master.— see, mamma is beckoning to me. Good night.—You will find it cool and pleasant on the river to-morrow.” And with this parting shot she is gone; leaving Vane, looking decidedly foolish, and what is worse, unpleasantly conscious that he is looking so. “By George!” he soliioquises, as he lights a cigar during his -— COMICOOOKS.€O im