Big Game - A Story for Girls

There, in a corner of a modern drawing-room, with a glimpse of a London

street between the curtain folds, Margot and George Elgood found the

Eden which is discovered afresh by all true lovers. Such moments are

too sacred for intrusion; they live enshrined in memory until the end of

life.

It was not until a considerable time had flown by that Margot recalled

the events of the earlier evening, and with them still another claim

held by her lover upon her gratitude and devotion. Drawing back, so as

to lift her charming face to his--a rosy, sparkling face, unrecognisable

as the same white and weary visage of a few hours back, she laid her

hand on his, and said sweetly-"We went off at a tangent, didn't we? I don't know how we went off, and

forgot the real business of the evening; but I never finished thanking

you! You must think me terribly ungrateful!"

George Elgood regarded her with puzzled, adoring eyes.

"I haven't the least idea what you are talking about, but what does it

matter? What does anything matter, except that we love each other, and

are the happiest creatures on earth? Business, indeed! Why need we

trouble ourselves to talk about business? Margot, do you know that you

have a dimple in the middle of your cheek? The most beautiful dimple in

the world!"

Margot shook her head at him with a pretence of disapproval, smiling the

while, so as to show off the dimple to the best advantage.

"You mustn't make me conceited. I am vain enough already to know that

you love me, and have taken so much trouble to please me. It was kind

of you!"

"What was kind, sweetheart? There is no kindness in loving you. I had

no choice in the matter, for I simply could not help myself!"

"Ah, but you know what I mean! You have given me my two greatest

desires! I can't tell you how happy I was when I saw it."

He stared at her for a moment, then smiled complacently.

"You mean--my note?"

"No, I didn't mean your note. Not this time. I meant the magazine!"

"Magazine!"

The accent of bewilderment was unmistakably genuine, and Margot hastened

to explain still further.

"The new number of the Loadstar with Ron's poem in it!"

"Ron's poem!" The note of bewilderment was accentuated to one of

positive incredulity. "A poem by your brother in the Loadstar! I did

not know that he wrote at all."