The Argosy — page 166: what you’re looking at

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

A Shower of Daffodils. I5I the old lady spirited her away. As she passed, a sweet, subtle scent from her soft drapery saluted him. He followed the pair at a dis- tance. They were taking orchestra tickets. “You had better give up your project, Evelyn,” he heard the old lady say. ‘‘ We are so late, there will be no chance of a chair in the orchestra ; we had better go to the balcony.” He was now where he could see the girl’s face. Her colour deep- ened and her lips quivered, and the dark eyes grew momentarily brighter as she said: ‘‘ Dear Mrs. Hamilton, do let us try: I may never get another chance.” ‘The appeal was answered by a kindly consent, and then the two ladies went to join the crowd of musical enthusiasts in Piccadilly Place. There was no thought of the hotel and the monograph in the young man’s mind now. Heat once took an orchestra ticket, and the recommendation that he should go to the gallery, as the orchestra would be full, passed unheeded. How it all came about he could never have told, but hesitation about points of vantage in the crowd, which led to much changing of seats, may have helped it. In any case the scientist found himself once more breathing the delicate scent of Evelyn’s soft drapery. He was seated in the third row from the platform, and the lady of the daffodils was directly in front of him, talking in low, glad tones to her companion. She removed the silk shawl, and brushed the stranger who had served her with the soft fringe. Then he saw her handing the flowers to all near her with some directions he did not catch. Butsoon each one in the first two rows had a daffodil. Why was he not in the first or second row he thought? And then he wondered what madness possessed him to be caring about such a thing, when this science tripos at Cambridge had hitherto fully absorbed him. He had had no time to think of women’s looks. But, now that he had gained his honours, his youth and his heart seemed all in a moment to have asserted themselves, to claim him as their tardy but willing slave. During the Dvorak quartet Joachim and the rest got but little of his attention. He was studying the rapt expression of the sweet face in front; for she had turned slightly, and he could gaze on the delicate profile to his heart’s content—or discontent, for would she not at the close of the concert be carried away out of his sight for ever P Mdlle. Badia’s tender rendering of one of Mozart’s airs suited his mood ; but he was all the time speculating about the daffodils. That mystery was soon explained, for as the singer gave place to Madame Schumann, who appeared in her lace mantilla, and greeted her old friends with her well-known gracious smile, the daffodils de- scended in a golden shower at her feet. Evelyn, in throwing hers, dropped one behind, and it fell into the young man’s hat, which he was holding upon his knees. With a smile, half triumphant, half sad, COnnicbooks im