The Argosy — page 84: what you’re looking at

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

Poor Aunt Deb! | 69 up to London to see if the building large enough to enclose a growing forest tree was indeed to be believed in. I, too, had a great longing to see this wonder ; but when a woman closely borders on seventy years of age, and has spent most of those long years in the seclusion of a country home, she hesitates to trust herself into such a whirl- pool as London was that year ! My hesitations, however, were all extinguished by receiving a most pressing invitation from Lady Grand, asking me to spend a week with them—promising me a sight of the Exhibition on the opening day—a couple of dinner parties; and that the rest of my visit should be as gay, or as quiet, as I liked to make it. Never can I forget that opening day! The crowd—the brilliancy —the soul-stirring music—the quaintly-dressed Ambassadors from strange Eastern lands—the universal air of enjoyment and gratifica- tion on every face, made the scene one to be not easily forgotten. Then, again, the sight of our young Queen and her noble husband, filling their exalted position so proudly, and yet so graciously, made my old heart quiver with loyalty, and I prayed God earnestly to bless them with many years of happiness together ! What an endless day it seemed, and how rested I felt when I was once again in the quiet brougham driving back to Chester Square. “Aunt Deb, we are going to have a lot of nice people to dinner to-night, so be sure and get a good rest before eight o’clock,” said my niece. ‘‘ There is one person, in particular, I want you to see— Sir James Nigel’s wife. She is reckoned one of the loveliest women in London this year.” “Is she, Beatrice, dear?” I said indifferently. ‘I hope her husband matches her.” “Oh, yes, Auntie, he’s good looking enough, but such a racketing, good-humoured fellow. He’s more like a boy than a man, and she is, oh! so quiet and spirituelle-looking. ‘They do make such a funny pair.” “Who was she?” was, of course, my next remark. I have often wondered whether we women would not make that remark if we were introduced to an angel unawares. ‘Oh, she’s a lady, Aunt Deb, but no one knew much of her till she married. I think an artist’s daughter, but certainly an orphan. She had lived for several years with her only living relative, a maiden aunt, who has a pretty little place down in a Shropshire village, where Sir James, before his father’s death, used to go for fishing and shooting with a college chum. They are not much in town, for she prefers a country life, and he is devoted to sport of all sort; but when they are up, we see much of them, for Tom and he are great friends.” By this time we had reached No. go, and I went at once to my room, and gave myself up to a well earned rest, till my maid came in to make preparations for my appearance at dinner. conmicooolks (S(O)