The Argosy — page 182: what you’re looking at

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

Isabel Clifford, M.D. 165 or she was very busy, their friendship grew steadily. One day in January a note arrived from Mrs. Lawrence, saying that they were now at home, and begging that Miss Clifford and Isabel would dine with them on the following evening. “You can go, Auntie,” she said. “And you too, dear, can’t you ?” “Oh no, I cannot spare an evening just now. I shall go and see them soon enough.” Miss Clifford went and much enjoyed the quiet little dinner. ‘““Mr. Francis came in and stayed half-an-hour. Did you know he had taken orders, Isabel? How strange that you forgot to tell me. He looks terribly worn. Mrs. Lawrence says he works much too hard. He is not at all strong, I’m afraid.” “How does Nellie look?” asked Isabel, gazing into the fire. ‘“‘ Quite well, little darling. She sat on her uncle’s knee nearly ail the time he was there. I don’t think they ought to let her sit up so late. And she asked him if he remembered the lady that made her well at Rosenwald, and brought your picture to show him. We were all so amused, for you had kept it such a secret. He was embarrassed though, poor man, and I don’t wonder after some of the things Mrs. Lawrence has told me he says about women.” “Did you see Mr. Lawrence’s pictures? They are said to be very good ?” “T saw some of his own, but I’m no judge. There was a small Bellini that they spent nearly their last penny in buying at Milan. Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence had some joke about it, but Mr. Francis said they had no night to go about robbing churches.” Plainly Miss Clifford would talk of Mr. Francis to-night. So Isabel made no further remarks, and listened with a somewhat weary air to all that her aunt had to say. Like most women, the old lady took a deeper interest than ever in her favourite, now that he had become a clergyman. The next day as Isabel was going out she found a poor woman waiting to speak to her. “You ‘tended my little boy in the hospital, my lady,” said the woman. ‘“ Him as had the bad knee.” ““T remember you,” said Isabel, after a moment of reflection, for she had attended only too many bad knees at the Children’s Hospital. “Did he get on well at the Convalescent Home?” “Yes, my lady; he is there now. But my girl is bad and I thought you’d maybe come and look at her. I think it’s the fever she’s got.” Isabel knew from the woman’s quiet, despairing look that she was one whose life was a long battle against want and misery of every kind. She promised to call and see the child within an hour. The “home” as the woman called it was a wretched room in a wretched alley in Seven Dials. Familiar as she ‘had now become with such GomiilGaooks