The Argosy — page 200: what you’re looking at

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

Lady Valera. 183 Spotless Knight’s merits that of being an ornament to society was not specified). ‘‘ Geraint must have had blue eyes and a fair moustache and a way of moving about ‘the dusky-raftered many-cobwebbed hall’ that made ‘Enid at her lowly handmaid-work feel it a joy to serve so great a prince.’ Geraint might have picked up Enid’s fowers with ‘Here are your roses, they are too pretty to lose ’—the poor common hedgerow blossoms.” And Enid. Enid had Zer toilette difficulties, it was some consola- tion to remember. Elsie pondered much over some treasured morsels of mother’s finery, wondering how smart she might make herself without appearing presumptuous. ‘The invitation to Mrs. Damien’s, enough in itself in the ordinary course of things to cause her a delight too great to realise, had now become almost awful with suggestions of what might or might not befal her there. ‘Then came a well-remembered, soft, imperative tap on the door, and Geraint, Enid and their glorious company took to flight incontinently. It was Mrs. Beltran at last, somewhat thin and careworn but cheery of bearing as of yore, who glided in and took up her old place beside the couch. “ Are you glad to see me again, little one?” Elsie’s faltered greeting was almost ungracious in its awkwardness ; but Mrs. Beltran took no notice, only contemplated her through her narrowed eyelids with her dark inscrutable smile. “This is my den that I crawl home to when the cruel world has ill-treated and got the best of me. I come here to rest and lie low till better times.. What have you there? Lace? Let me see it.” Elsie handed her the fichu she had been mending. Mrs. Beltran gave a visible shudder at the clumsiness of the unfinished darn. ‘Old Limerick point, and good of its kind,” she pronounced. ‘Where did you get it?” She had already pulled out her pocket work-case and was tenderly cutting and drawing out Elsie’s unskilful stitches. Elsie watched and admired while she stretched the torn lace over a stiff piece of glazed stuff and, mounting a quaint, battered, gold em- bossed thimble on her finger, caught revelled thread and broken mesh together with rapid dexterity. She could talk as well as work too, and Elsie could not but respond. ‘The injured spray grew again under the swift needle, and Elsie, led on by sympathetic question and remark, had told the story of the last few months, with but one reser- vation, before it was done. . After all what did it matter? It was such a beautiful story. Mrs. Damien might perhaps barely have recognised the idealised sketch of herself and her mission which she drew. Mrs. Beltran apparently did, though, which was curious. * And Mr.—what—Poynter ?—is her last lover ?” ‘Why do you say that?” asked Elsie in a faint little voice. ‘“Poor wretch! How can a moth keep out of the candle? He is COMICcoooks (S@) im