The Argosy — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

4 ADONAIS, Q.C. THE STORY OF A WAGER, I, RS. FEATHERSTONHAUGH at home?” eho," Mr. Adonais fumbled in his card-case. ‘Is she quite well again ?” The footman opened his eyes. ‘‘Oh no, sir; but the day was so fine she thought a drive might do her good.” A card exchanged hands, and the door of the dainty Park Lane residence closed softly. Oliver Adonais, Q.C., put back his card-case into his pocket, much relieved, and walked with long, swinging steps down the sun-parched thoroughfare. The sun was shining on Adonais. It played on his sleek black hat, glared searchingly at the seams of his coat, lit up his reddish- brown hair and moustache, and would have done the same for his eyes had it been able. But Adonais was walking with his head in the air, and his brows knit, and his keen, splendid hazel eyes cast to the ground—for Adonais was thinking. Sometimes grave, deep, and may be bitter thoughts will pass through a mind, and all that the world sees is a careless face. Sometimes it is just the other way. For here was the famous Oliver Adonais with a forehead as solemn and unfathomable as a sepulchre :—and what were his thoughts like ? ‘I’m glad they were out,” he was saying to himself; “very glad. I don’t like them. The men one meets there are—fools or fast ; and the women—loud. I spent that evening with them, and I had to call to-day, of course. But there’s an end of it. As for Mrs. Featherstonhaugh herself, I don’t believe in her illness ; simply don’t believe in it; she’s just as well as I am. Pretty woman enough, but unprincipled and cruel. I don’t like her.” And Adonais turned sharp round a corner, and flicked a bit of straw viciously off the pavement with the end of his walking-stick. “Mr. Adonais, how d’ye do?” A tweed-coated youth had button-holed him. And he listened forthwith to a lengthy tirade on the bad prospects of the grouse shoot- ing; to alittle about a cricket match, and a great deal about a cricket club ; then promised a handsome contribution to the latter, nodded a laughing good-bye, and sped on his way again. And lo! the sun- burnt face and shooting jacket passed like a dream from his mind —thoughts when they get into one’s head are so difficult to get out Gomichbooks.co _