The Argosy — page 250: what you’re looking at

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

231 LADY POSTLETHWAITE’S WILL. 2 HILL,” said my father, ‘“‘here’s a note from Lady Postle- thwaite. She wants to see me this morning, to take instruc- tions for a codicil to her will. I can’t go, so you must.” I received the suggestion with sufficient ungraciousness. It upset my plans for a rapid despatch of office work that morning and an afternoon’s holiday on the ice at Hendon. ‘Lady Postlethwaite doesn’t know me,” I demurred. ‘‘ Wouldn’t she rather wait till you are better?” “Bless my soul!” interrupted my father testily. ‘‘ When did you ever know me to get better? The fit is due, sir! I feel it flying about me at this moment, and here you go aggravating it with your stupid, paltering objections. Do you mean to go, or do you not?” “Of course I’m going, as soon as I get the address. I only thought of your being her old and confidential friend ——” “Old friends be ——-!” exploded my father, and then I knew it was gout. A false alarm made him “ bless his soul” occasionally, but nothing short of the real thing ever drove a profane expletive from those God-fearing lips. I knew my father’s visits to his client were solemn undertakings, lasting half the day at shortest, and inwardly resolved to astonish his. valued old friend into a more rapid despatch of her affairs, so as to get away before the afternoon waned. I had never seen Lady Postlethwaite. I only knew that she had a large fortune and was much exercised as to its eventual disposal. ‘‘ Lady Postlethwaite’s Will” came round as regularly in my father’s diary as quarter day ;. and about as frequently. I journeyed in a sulky mood through the frost-fog to the suburban. region where “‘ Deodara Lodge” then stood. A smart villa residence with much glass and ornamental shrubbery surrounding it. There was an air of trim luxury, of a costly, quiet sort about the whole place. The little smiling maid-servant who opened the door was the only incongruity. She trotted before me down a warm, hushed hall to a door through which she ushered me and left me alone, as I thought. The room was rich and sombre, heavy with mahogany, gloomy with damask. A bright fire snapped and sparkled in a marvellously polished steel grate ; over the mantelpiece, in a gorgeous gilded frame, hung a portrait of a little grey man in the full splendour of alder- manic robes, and in front of the fire in the depths of a great leathern arm-chair, a little old lady slumbered soundly. A comfortable, rosy-cheeked old-lady, with greyish-brown curls pinned at each side of her placid little face, a very smart cap, CORnNICOOOKS.EO©