The Argosy — page 287: what you’re looking at

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

262 The White Witch. “‘T think she would have been wiser to confide in you more than she has done,” quietly remarked the lawyer; ‘‘but she gave me reasons for her reticence, and I am bound to respect her wishes in the matter. If, however, you do succeed in discovering her, I should advise you to insist upon a full explanation of her position before offering to assist her in any way.” Godfrey laughed shortly. ‘‘She knows very well that I can insist on nothing with her.” “Not even when I tell you that is your only chance of doing her any good? Look here, Mr. Godfrey Mayne: I think so well of your disinterestedness that I would freely help you to find her if I knew where she was, but I do not. You may say, why don’t I find her for myself: well, because I have not the right to interfere in defiance of her wishes, and because I am very angry with her.” “Then it is true that you cannot give me her address?” cried Godfrey wistfully. “No, I cannot,” said Mr. Thorn. ‘ But I can give you that of a lady who may know something of her; who may, even now, be striving to save Mary from the consequences of her own folly.” He looked about for a card, and went on talking while he wrote upon it. ‘“ That girl has thrown away the most brilliant chances that a woman could wish for, for the most absurd and unreasonable infatuation that ever turned a clever young head. She has a voice that would make her fortune; training would have enabled her to enter upon an artist’s career,” and as Mr. Thorn spoke, his manner changed to enthusiasm, the lawyer was merged in the musician. ‘‘ Fler father, my good friend, was a successful man and could provide for her; but what of that?—asI often said to him, when we were wrangling over his prejudices ; I striving to persuade him that it was his duty to give such a talent to the world, a sin if he withheld it. Well, well—she went, herself, and made havoc of her life at the outset, threw her career to the winds; and has entailed more trouble than you suspect, sir, upon those connected with her.” Mr. Thorn checked himself, and looked fixedly at the card on which he had been writing. “She might take it up yet,” he continued, his eyes growing brighter and more dreamy, while his nervous hand wandered over his forehead and over his wavy hair faster than ever; ‘‘I do not see that itis too late. The career of a successful artiste brings the greatest happiness possible in this world—one of those sweet and wonderful singers that are so rare. Where can you lose yourself but in listening to these intoxicating melodies? You forget your troubles: your wife, your creditors, your business perplexities, your ——” Again Mr. Thorn stopped. He had suddenly remembered himself, and gave Godfrey the card with a laugh. ‘If you were to come to me in my lawyer’s capacity, I should not treat you to these rhapsodies,” said he. ‘‘ There is the address of the Gomicbooks (e(e) oe