The Argosy — page 112: what you’re looking at

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

The Story of Charles Strange. Q7 proceeded the doctor, ‘‘and get her nerves braced up. Otherwise she may be seeing that ghost for six months to come. A strange fancy, that, for her to take up—and yet, perhaps, not so very strange, taking all things into consideration. She is full of remorse, thinking she might have done her duty better by her husband, made him less unhappy, and all that. Mrs. Brightman is a gentlewoman of proud, elevated instincts: she would be only too thankful to leave off this demoralising habit; in a way, I believe she strives to do it, but it is stronger than she is.” ‘Tt has become worse, Hatch says, since Mr. Brightman died.” “Undoubtedly,” concluded Mr. Close. “She has taken it to drown care.” Cr AP DR te see ow MY LORD AND MY LADY. THE breakfast-table was laid in Gloucester Place, waiting for Lord and Lady Level. It was the day following the one recorded of in the last chapter. A clear, bright morning, the sun shining hotly. Blanche came in, wearing a dainty white dress. Her face, though thin, was fair and lovely as ever, her eyes were as blue and brilliant. Ringing for the coffee to be brought in, she began turning over the letters on the table: one for herself, which she saw was from Mrs. Guy; three for her husband. Of these, one bore the Paris postmark. ‘Here is a letter from Paris, Archibald,” she said to him as he entered. ‘I think from Madame Sauvage; it is like her writing. I hope it is to say that she has sent off the box.” “That you may regain possession of your finery,” rejoined Lord Level, with a light, pleasant laugh. ‘‘ Eh, Blanche?” ‘Well, my new lace mantle is in it. So stupid of Timms to have made the mistake.” *¢So it was. I daresay the box is on its road by this time.” Blanche began to pour out the coffee. Lord Level had gone to the window and was looking up and down the street. As he took his seat to begin his breakfast, he pushed the letters away idly with- out opening them, and remarked upon the fineness of the morning. They were fairly good friends, these two ; always courteous, save when Blanche was seized with a fit of jealousy, persuading herself, rightly or wrongly, that she had cause for it. Then she would be cross, bitter, snappish. Once in a way Lord Level retorted in kind ; though on the whole, he was patient and gentle with her. In the midst of it all she loved him passionately at heart, and sometimes let him know it. “As it is so fine a day, Archibald, you might take me to Kensing- ton, to call on Mrs. Page Reid, this afternoon. She sent us her address, you know.” “I would rather not, Blanche, unless you very particularly wish it. Pon. XLVI. H COMA @ LNOOlKS.EO©