The Argosy — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

Godmother Dorothy. 31 depart ; but the one to which I cling most fondly, and for the sake of which I am ready to throw overboard all the rest if need be, is my weekly letter to Godmother and her weekly reply to mine. Every Tuesday night have I opened my great shabby old leather writing-case—her present when I was starting for India more than twenty years ago—taken out her photograph and propped it up before me, and then addressing it, as it were, proceeded to pour out all the week’s experiences, as I could have done to no living being beside, in the full confidence that Sunday. evening would find her pondering over the last letter she had received from me, and answering it with the best of her sympathy. Delightful answers, full of fun, piquant gossip, personal and otherwise, and talk about myself and my concerns, touched with the lightest, most delicate finger. Iam naturally a re- served man, reserved to unsociability. I can only make myself decently companionable by a strong and continuous effort, and no one can tell the relief it has been to pour out my thoughts to this half-known, shadowy confidant ; as shadowy as her photograph, in a voluminous crinoline and flowing sleeves, taken before her marriage, and which was all I had ever had of her till she sent me a new one last year. We met once, for two days, at the time of her marriage with my godfather. All my people were beyond measure wrathful with Lady Dolly, the little minx of a school girl who had bewitched him into marry- ing her, and so disposed effectually of all zy prospects of heirship ; prospects, I am bound to admit, of the most airy and baseless nature. ‘They were so urgent that I should make my approaching departure for India an excuse for not being present at the wedding that I was stimulated to opposition, and started off to Yorkshire to present my congratulations in person, and offer my services as best man. Within half an hour after my arrival at the forlorn, out-at- elbows old castle, I had struck up a friendship with the little childish bride that was to last my life. She was so romantic in her devotion to her handsome, middle-aged bridegroom, so splendid in her scorn of any advantage that his wealth might bring her, and so determin-’ edly loyal to my interests when it came to a question of settlements, that it is less than wonderful that she should touch my heart as no woman could before or since. The day after the wedding I sailed for India, and we never met again. When I came home on leave, my godfather was trying a voyage to Australia as a last remedy for his failing strength. And when I came home for good she was nursing her only brother, taking him from one German bath to another in a fruitless chase after health. Somehow I did not regret the postponement of our meeting. My visionary Lady Dolly was very dear to me—so dear that on her behalf I felt an odd jealousy of the claims of the original. Just as the new Van der Weyde photograph, so like and yet so unlike my hoarded recollections, came upon me with a sort of shock. I had Gomichboo (E@) m