The Argosy — page 158: what you’re looking at

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

Roy’s Good Samaritan. 143 Perhaps there was some magnetic fascination in his intent, com- passionate gaze, for presently the pretty head, with its be-ruffled curls, was lifted suddenly, and a pair of grey eyes, scorched by hot tears, confronted Geoff fiercely. “ You, again! What! Havel] still moretobear from you? Or are you come to feast your eyes upon my misery ?” To the full as wretched as herself, Geoff stammered his excuses, snatched up the unlucky pocket-book, and somehow got to the door. There a sudden impulse seized him. He stepped back to the table, and, leaning across it, said earnestly: ‘‘ Miss Bevan, try to forgive me the pain I have caused you, and don’t think more hardly of me than you can help. Mine has been an ungracious errand. If I had known in the beginning all that I know now, I think—perhaps—I should never have undertaken it.” It was a great, almost a traitorous admission, but Geoff felt more comfortable after making it. ** T wonder shall we ever meet again?” he said to himself, as he walked away. ‘‘ Well, one thing, she must hate me now, heart and soul. She might forgive me my errand, but never my having wit- nessed her humiliation. MHeigho! If I had been in Roy’s place I’d have stuck to such a prize through thick and thin, and snapped my fingers at all worldly-wise advisers.” If. Ir is early spring-time in the year of Grace, 1887. In a handsomely furnished sitting-room on the first floor of the Hotel Millefleurs, in one of the favourite health-resorts of the Riviera, two people are sitting in earnest conversation. The one, a lady, reminds us faintly—for she is greatly changed—of the Lady Lucy Pierrepoint of ten years since. rom the bronzed face of her com- panion look the pleasant brown eyes of her nephew, Geoffrey Pierre- point. He has changed, too, has grown older and graver, and his thin face shows traces of recent illness. ‘Ten years have brought him promotion and several grey hairs. Colonel Pierrepoint is on his way back from India, where he has been serving with his regiment these many years past, and now, preferring to loiter in warm latitudes till winter is a thing of the past, he has come to join his aunt on the Riviera. Their talk had been of melancholy subjects in the old familiar strain, for even in this their first meeting after a long separation, Lady Lucy had fallen naturally into her old habits of confidence. Geoffrey was so reliable, a tower of strength to the poor woman who had in her character an ivy-like tendency to clutch at the nearest support. “Ihave always trusted you as a son, Geoff; in a way you have been more comfort to me than my own poor boy. And now that connicloooks (C(O)