The Argosy — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

100 The Mystery of Allan Grale. who had married and transformed themselves into a host and _ hostess. ‘‘Uncle says it is like old times to see Webster waiting on him at table,” Maria added, with a pale smile. ‘And what have you been doing with yourself all the morning ?” Edgar asked in return. ‘Oh, all sorts of things ; this has been a busy day,” she answered. “Well,” said Mrs. Vivian, “I have been, candidly speaking, idle. Women of our class always are idle, you know, only some of them choose to disguise the fact with busy idleness.” Edgar thought his aunt had grown more acid than she used to be. Surely it was not always so bad as this! When long absence from familiar things reveal their true proportions, it 1s always hard to realise that it is not they, but only our eyes which are changed. “And what do you mean to do this afternoon, Maria?” Edgar asked. “Let us go for a walk together! A walk untrammelled by any card-case. It is ages since we have had one of our old- fashioned rambles.” ‘We might call on the Palmers, perhaps,” said Maria. ‘I never feel a visit there to be acall of ceremony.” Maria had her own gentle fancies about her brother Edgar and Agnes Palmer. “You ought to pay your call there very early if you pay it at all,” said Mrs. Vivian. ‘‘ Remember they don’t have open-house afternoon tea, but a real family tea-time. Such a delightful meal! I only wish people of position could indulge in these primitive customs.” _ They started together in the afternoon. Maria made a pretty picture as she stepped out under the waving shadows of the great trees. She wore a simply-made white dress of some thick, soft mate- rial, with a scarf of black lace thrown hghtly round her shoulders, and a smaller one wound about her large straw hat. The only bit of colour about her was a spray of variegated geranium, fastened at her neck. As she took her brother’s arm, she looked up into his face and smiled softly, as if feeling happy. ‘ They took the way to the left through the wood which lay between Dering Court and Dering village. Through the wood, one came out upon Dering village—the old village, not Mill-Lane, the name of the row of cottages built by Mr. Grale for his mill-hands. Church, parsonage and school, shop and farm, were dotted along the winding road ; amid liberal reaches of common land and rich woodland. About the last house in Dering, standing quite in a hollow, almost buried among trees, was Moorland House, Mr. Grale’s place, and from that point, the road went, growing bleaker and barer, till it passed Mill-Lane, and reached the Works. Herethe high road broke away into the open country, but a bye road, that which Edgar had travelled that morning, led back to Dering Court. Dering might be described as a straggling village, encircling a beautifully wooded hill. The hill itself was named in county records as the Camp, and was not without archeological jnterest. CORNICE LOOKS eC)