The Argosy — page 118: what you’re looking at

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

The White Witch. 105 the back of the house, furnished meagrely with odds and ends that were not wanted anywhere else, carpeted with matting, and having a mouldy, unused smell. However, it was cool enough. Godfrey drew an American chair to one of the windows, which he threw open. A trailing branch of Virginia creeper, which had been crushed against the panes, fell inside on to the window-sill. “Now, if you sit there, you can enjoy the breeze and the ants at the same time.” “What a lovely room! MDoesn’t anybody use it?” asked she, as she placed herself in the long low chair in an easy attitude that Godfrey admired as he answered her. “It is scarcely ever used,” he answered, not choosing to say that he now came to it sometimes in consequence of being turned out of the other. “It used to be our play-room.” Miss Dixon went on. “It is difficult to find anything to say about the Abbey but ‘ How nice!’ ‘ How lovely!’ I think you must be tired of hearing it admired.” “I should have thought you must have seen too many beautiful places, too many chateaux in France, and palaces in Rome and Venice, to think much of this old homestead.” A shadow crossed her face, so quickly that he could not describe it; and when she answered, the momentary vivacity with which she had last spoken had gone out of her voice. **T have seen a great many beautiful places, as you say. But just as they have charms of their own, so has an English country-house qualities which none of the foreign palaces possess.” *““ By Jove, it has!” assented Godfrey, with sudden heartiness. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Dixon. I hope you will forgive my warmth, but, there, I can so entirely agree with you. If you want to wean yourself from the world by learning to hate your very existence, if you want to meditate a battle or a murder, if you want to go melancholy mad on a windy night or suspend yourself from a silken rope on a wet Sunday—there is no place like an English country- house. And in all the advantages I have described, the Abbey, I pledge you my word, yields to none.” Mary Dixon laughed, showing her pretty teeth. ‘“ Then why do you stay here?” “Upon my word I hardly know why I do. Want of energy to go elsewhere.” It seemed to Godfrey that another shadow, of a different kind, appeared for an instant on the pale face as he said these words; almost, this time, as if the large brown eyes had dared for a second to flash forth an expression of contempt. Surely he must have been mistaken. This little, white, timid girl would never dare to take such a liberty with him. He continued : “I expect you will soon find the charms of Croxham pall. No woman can exist here.” CONNIE IOOKS (E(@) m