The Argosy — page 349: what you’re looking at

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

326 Lady Grace. by Dr. Baumgarten to a few nearly superannuated lights of the Church, who came in their mitred chariots, with their old wives beside them. It was not at all one delighted in by Lady Grace, who called the worthy people “ancient fogies.” Neither Charles nor Gertrude, if at home, would have been admitted to it. Cyras would have been still more out of his element than they. Cyras, who would soon be on the wing again for a distant land, was paying a farewell visit to Charles at Oxford ; Gertrude was spending the day with their friends in Eaton Place—the Maude-Dynevors. “That carriage has passed out of the square; I fancied it was coming here,” remarked Lady Grace as she turned from the window. The Dean stood with his elbow leaning on the mantelpiece, the hand supporting his head. <A strange weight of care sat upon his brow; so great, so strange, that it did not escape the notice of his wife. ‘Ts anything the matter, Ryle? You do not look well.” “Well? Oh yes; I am quite well.” ‘You are troubled then. What is it?” ‘ Nothing; it is nothing, Grace. ‘The day has been very hot, and heat always makes me feel languid, you know.” And the Dean removed his elbow, smoothed his brow, and cailed up a smile, just as the first black silk apron, worn by the Bishop of Denham, came sailing in. In point of fact, the Dean had cause to show an uneasy front: a terrible blow had fallen upon him; painfully perplexing tidings that he knew not how to cope with. But never had the Dean of Denham been more courteous, more brilliant, more alive to the duties of a host than he was that evening. He sat at the head of his board after Lady Grace had withdrawn, and the sociable old bishops admired his learning, retorted to his wit, yielded to his fascinations, and enjoyed his good wine. It wasa remark amongst their lordships the next day that Baumgarten had surpassed himself. ‘The ladies thought the same when he appeared with their lords in the drawing-room. Gertrude Baumgarten was in it then, and was singing to them some of her sweetest songs, but they forgot the songs when they listened to the Dean. A servant was crossing the saloon with a coffee-cup; he halted for a moment near his master, and spoke in a tone imperceptible to other ears. It was Moore, who had lived so long in the family; a middle-aged man now, and quite a confidential servant. ‘Mr. Fuller is come again, sir; and another gentleman with him. I have shown them into the library.” Drawing towards the door, unconsciously as it were, with a word to one, a smile for another, the Dean presently passed out of it, unnoticed, for they were engaged with their coffee, and Gertrude was singing again. In the library were two gentlemen, and further off, sitting on the edge of a handsome chair, as if handsome chairs and himself did not often come into contact with each other, was a shabby- COMMICOOOKS. EO)