The Argosy — page 332: what you’re looking at

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

Mr. Fermyn’s Racquet. 313 other. Now, having once said so, of course I never could play with any other—successfully. At all events I should object to try.” ‘This borders on the unearthly,” laughed a voice in the corner. ‘Ts that the proper word to use?” observed another. “I think I shall ask Miss Raymond.” ‘Please do,” said Mr. Jermyn, looking coolly round at the seat behind him. But Miss Raymond had already left the room. El. SHE had gone straight out of the room, along a narrow passage leading into a side hall ; and, opening a glass door at the end of the hall, had drawn a long deep breath of the cool night air, and stood, in her low-cut pale pink dress, looking out into the moonlit garden. Aurora—that was her name ; amost unfortunate name for a plainer woman, but the one of all others suited for her. No one could have ever cast a glance at her and doubted that she was born to do aught but shine. Her handsome, well-held figure, beautifully-moulded face, her wide, iris-blue eyes, the very fairy-like brilliance of her golden hair, each by itself seemed to proclaim the nature of the woman. ‘There was much power, and yet something marvellously sweet in each and in all. ‘There was something grand about her; it was impossible to look at her without feeling certain that, besides being an exceptionally Deautiful, she was an exceptionally clever woman; and if there was a fault—and when is there not a fault !—one would have guessed at once, and guessed rightly, that its name was pride. Just now it seemed as if she were quivering under some blow which had fallen on her—her face looked colourless as a snow-flake in the light of the moon. “It was my own fault for introducing the subject,” she muttered, passionately ; “‘ but surely he might have spared me! When I had spoken to him, when I had agreed to let bygones be bygones, the hateful incident comes in through the means of this racquet once more. I wish I had never seen it!—I wish I had never seen Douglas Jermyn !” She stood there, the night wind blowing about her. Then, seeming suddenly to recollect the chilliness of the evening, she shivered and shut the door again. She went along a passage to the left, and sud- denly gave a great start, and stood motionless. Upon a little hall- table beside her was lying a bundle of wraps, and a strong-looking, large-sized racquet. She first stared at it, and then, seemingly in answer to an irresistible impulse, undid the strap of the wraps, and held the racquet in her hand. “So here you are!” she muttered, half laughingly and half in anger, CoOnnicloooks (SO) am