The Argosy — page 334: what you’re looking at

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

Mr. Fermyn’s Racquet. 315 New Zealand ; and how they had driven to his chambers—for he was a barrister—to bid him good-bye. He was to have been Douglas Jermyn’s best man at the wedding, and it was the least they could do. | What a hot day that was—and how well she remembered it! She was sitting in a cool corner of the room, putting in a word now and again, and laughing at her aunt’s lively chatter. Then, all of a sudden, she started. There was Douglas’s racquet! What kept her from exclaiming at once she could not tell; but she silently stretched out her hand for it, and held it just as she held it now. Should she ever forget the shock? Underneath the racquet, carelessly thrown down—carelessly tossed aside, no doubt—and in a friend’s room— not even his own room—was the locket with her miniature. She put the racquet silently back on the top of it, cut to the quick, and went home too angry even to think—to Douglas Jermyn. She wished now, looking back, that she had taken time to think. After all, it was but a trifle. After all, it was her own wicked pride which had been most to blame. What had Douglas Jermyn said to her? First of all—that he was sorry. ‘That was no excuse for such carelessness. Next, and more quickly—that she must trust him. Well, there had been pride on his side too. ‘Trust him in what way, she demanded. He turned and looked at her—she could see him now—and made no answer. ‘Thenshe reproached him. She wished —ah, how she wished—she had but taken time to think. Through it all, in some way, the racquet came in again and again. It seemed to be the worst of all to her that the locket should be tossed down under so careless a thing as the racquet. Finally she remembered just how he stood and looked at her, and said at last that there was nothing ignominious in the locket having lain there; the racquet was a very good racquet. ‘In fact, from the day I get it into my hand again,” said he, “I shall never use any other—in memoriam.” “Then I will never speak to you again,” she cried, passionately. And to think that it was possible that both had kept their word until now! Ah, dear! and she covered her eyes with her hands. Alas! this was the steeling process. Just at this moment the handle of the door was turned, followed by a quick tattoo of knocks. “Aurora, my dear; where are you?” She started up, and stared wildly down at the racquet. The room was in a sort of square tower, and the window was a very broad one, down almost to the floor. Through the middle panes the moon shone, but each side was draped by a heavy curtain. She made a quick dart to the window, and poked the racquet behind the curtain ; then opened the door. ‘Do you want me, Aunt Janet ?” “Want you, Aurora! I wanted to see what in the world had become of you. Excuse me, my dear, but don’t you think your run- COnniclooks (SO) mn