The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

94 She went and spoke to Mrs. Trevor. Then she came back to where he was standing and looked up at him in- quiringly. “Let’s go over there,” he said, indi- cating one side of the parade-ground. She looked in that direction. “But there isn’t anything there,” she said. “ Everything’s on this other side. The side you mean is deserted. I don’t think J see a single person.” “ That,” he answered, “is exactly why I chose it. Will you come?” They started off. CHAPTER III. HER ANSWER. THEY left the reviewing-stand and made their way toward the deserted stretch which Bennett had indicated. Many admiring glances were cast at the girl by his side. Bennett noticed them, and felt a sense of pride at being with her, which called up the thought of how splendid it would be if he were to have her with him, not occasionally, as at present, but always. Generally he did not allow himself to dwell long upon the prospect, but to- day the idea seemed to cling to him. He kept thinking about it, so much so that he practically made no attempt at conversation. She noticed his preoccupation. “Well, Mr. Serious, what are you thinking about?” she asked, with the inflection which gives the most com- monplace remarks the warmth of real interest. Having no neat and polished reply ready, Bennett fell back on a very weak phrase. “Nothing in particular,” he said. “ You are—with that solemn face!” “Except you, of course.” “ And I am nothing in particular?” He looked at her quickly, and sud- denly seemed to shake off his preoccu- pation. “JT didn’t really mean that, of course,” he said, surreptitiously touch- _fortable. THE ARGOSY. ing her hand. to me.” He broke off and looked round. They were now far away from every one. Bennett felt an intuition that this was his opportunity. He might not have another such for some time. “Everything,” he repeated. “To me you mean more than anybody or anything else. You know that, don’t your” ~ “ No; why should I?” “T want you to.” “You are everything “Well—” She hesitated. “You believe me, don’t you, Edith?” “ Of course. I would always believe you. But this is different, somehow. It seems such a big thing. One must have an enormous opinion of oneself to believe it without question. I feel afraid to.” 66 Why? 39 ““ Because—because, I think—one is always most cautious about accepting things one most wants to believe.” _ He clasped her hand now, all of it. She did not draw it away. “So you want to believe!” he said. “ And, after all, it’s only your due, in away. You must be used to receiving homage. You receive it from every- body. [I’m not anybody special. It would be different if it were the other way about.” He paused. “ Very different,” he went on. “ Still, if you will, you can tell me something.” - He hesitated. ** What is it? ” she asked. “ Well—” He paused again. Then he plunged on: “ Say that you like me.’ He got it out quickly all in one breath. It was not easy for him to say it. Like most people gifted with a sense of humor, Bennett had a dread of showing emotion, of displaying his feelings. He feared to look ridiculous. Anything even remotely connected with sentiment made him feel uncom- But he did want to hear her say that one short sentence. “Of course,” he added, still more CoOMmicbook CO