The Argosy — page 348: what you’re looking at

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

The Lovely Widow. 327 “Everything is hers—those are the terms of the will. We will hope, however, that with so capable an adviser as yourself, the charming young widow will manage well and comfortably. Good- morning, madam! My train starts ten minutes hence, and business awaits me. Always happy to be of service to any of my late client’s family.” So he bowed himself off, and Mrs. Grant put the wine away in an old-fashioned cellaret. This she locked, and removed the bunch of keys to a basket on the table. Then she stood and looked round at the massive old furniture, soliloquising. “ As good now as it was in his father’s time, and valuable. I’ve nothing like it in my house. Hope Florence will look after things— and of course she can’t live here alone. Humph!” With this audible grunt, the erect old lady strode into the hall, which was cold and gloomy. On the opposite side was the drawing- room door, which she opened, and found the room fireless and empty; the blinds not yet drawn up. “Florence is in her room, I suppose,” she thought, standing irresolute. ‘‘ Shall I go to her? Perhaps better not. There’s never been much feeling between us, though I’d be willing to overlook that now,” and she rang the bell. With painfully hushed footsteps—for the sense of death still lingered in the house—the parlour-maid answered the summons. “T’m going home now, Janet; will you ask your mistress if I shall come up to her, or whether she’d rather see me to-morrow ? ” ‘Yes, ma’am.” In a minute Janet fluttered back. ‘Please, ma’am, my mistress says she would be glad to see you in the morning.” “Very well—bring my umbrella and cloak, Janet ; it rains a little now, I see.” And the tall old lady walked forth, and soon reached a small neat house, surrounded by a prim suburban garden, where a servant, nearly as old as herself, must have been on the watch, for the door was held open as she passed in at the gate. Silently and kindly the cloak was removed, and then Maria followed her mistress into the neat, prim drawing-room, where a bright fire burned. “You'll be liking a cup of tea, ma’am, and it’s ready for you.” “Yes, Maria; a cup of tea.” Old Mrs. Grant untied her bonnet strings, took off a knitted wrapper, and seated herself in a formal, high-backed arm-chair, resting her withered hands on the arms, and looking straight and Steady at the fire. Maria brought the tea and a pair of slippers. These she put on for her mistress, and then watched her drink the tea in silence. At last she spoke. GoOmiilGaooks