The Argosy — page 106: what you’re looking at

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

The Story of Charles Strange: &g ‘Rather a long walk,” he remarked with a smile. ‘‘ But it is what I should have done at your age. JDzunner will be ready soon. We dine at three o’clock on Sundays. It allows ourselves and the servants to attend evening as well as morning service.” He had walked towards the house as he spoke, and we went in. The drawing-room and dining-room opened on either side a large hall. In the former room sat Mrs. Brightman. I had seen her occa- sionally at the office door in her carriage, but had never spoken to her except that first time. She was considerably younger than Mr. Brightman, who must have been then getting towards fifty. A proud woman she looked as she sat there; her hair light and silky, her blue eyes disdainful, her dress a rich purple silk, with fine white lace about it. ‘“‘ Here is Charles Strange at last,” Mr. Brightman said to her, and she replied by a slight bend of the head. She did not offer to shake hands with me. ‘“‘T have heard of you as living in Essex Street,” she condescended to observe, as I sat down. ‘‘ Your relatives do not, I presume, live tn London ?” ‘‘T have not any near relatives,” was my answer. ‘‘ My great uncle fives in London, but he is away just now.” ‘You were speaking of that great civil cause, Emma, lately tried in the country ; and of the ability of the defendants’ counsel, Sergeant Stillingfar,” put in Mr. Brightman. “It is Sergeant Stillingfar, if you remember, who is Charles’s uncle.” : “‘ Oh, indeed,” she said ; and I thought her manner became rather more gracious. And ah, what a gracious, charming lady she could be when she pleased! When she was amongst people whom she con- sidered to be of her own rank and degree. “Where is Annabel?” asked Mr. Brightman. *¢ She has gone dancing off somewhere,” was Mrs. Brightman’s reply. “TY never saw such a child. She is never five minutes together in one place.” Presently she danced in. A graceful, pretty child, apparently about twelve, ina light-blue silk frock. She wore her soft brown hair in curls round her head, and they flew about as she flew, and a bright colour rose to her cheeks with every word she spoke, and her eyes were like her father’s—dark, tender, expressive. Not any resemblance could I trace to her mother, unless it lay in the same delicately-formed features. We had a plain dinner; a quarter of lamb, pastry and creams. Mr. Brightman did not exactly apologise for it, but explained that on Sundays they had as little cooking as possible. But it was hand- somely served, and there were several sorts of wine. Three servants waited at table, two in livery and the butler in plain clothes. Some little time after it was over, Mr. Brightman left the room, and Mrs. Brightman, without the least ceremony, leaned back in an comicooolks (S(O)