The Argosy — page 246: what you’re looking at

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

Wilful Margaret. 231 slowly edged her way from him. .;To torment the world came natural to Miss Darrell. ‘Tf foolish moths will flutter near the candle they must expect to get their wings singed,” cried she: and with a rippling laugh, she opened the outer door, slipped through, and dexterously turned the key in the lock to prevent his following her. Leaving George Wilson to digest this at his leisure, she sought the library and, throwing herself in a low:fauteuil, tried to lose herself in the pages of the Saturday Review, but not successfully: and she soon threw it from her in discontent and an access of irritation. “Why, Madge! what’s up 2?” exclaimed a cheery, good-tempered voice, as a stout, jovial-looking old gentleman entered the room. ‘Has the ‘Saturday Reviler,’ as John Bright dubbed it, been cutting up your pet novel—eh?” And the Squire dropped into a chair opposite Madge and regaled himself with a copious pinch of snuff. ‘George has been rather out of sorts, lately, has he not?” con- tinued he, as she sat without speaking. ‘“‘ Has he ?” was the careless reply given now, as she caressed the head. of a large mastiff that was nestling lovingly against her knees. ‘‘ Perhaps he has lost heavily on the St. Leger? George’s luck and his. knowledge of horses are about equal.” The Squire looked at her curiously. ‘‘ Well, Madge,” he said at. last, “‘ George’s income Is a large one; it can stand a few expensive. mistakes on the turf: with your sharp head at his right hand we may some day see him the owner of the winner of the Derby. Come, child, which of your two lovers is it to be? George, or Wilfrid ?” ‘““T don’t know that it need be either, uncle. Why do you ask?” ‘Well, my dear,” began the Squire, as he rubbed nervously at his gold-rimmed eye-glasses, for his easy, laissez-faire nature was rather. apt to quail before the energetic self-will of his imperious niece, and. her supreme indifference to her own good, ‘the fact is, Massingham has been with me this morning. You’ve made a conquest of a noble fellow, Madge. You have only to say the word to be mistress of Massingham Hall—the finest place in the county ———” ‘Stop, Uncle John.” A look of displeasure was creeping over: Margaret’s expressive face as she interrupted. ‘‘May I ask what Colonel Massingham means ? ” . ‘* Means P” “Yes. How justify his conduct in asking you for my hand before he knows that I am willing to bestow it ?” ~**Why—I’m sure I don’t know,” faltered her uncle. “‘ Massingham has somehow got it into his head that he is not quite indifferent to you, I fancy. And I don’t see, Madge,” he continued, plucking up a little more spirit, “that he is to be blamed for seeking my consent before speaking to you.” » “No, uncle dear,” cried Madge, as, with an affectionate nopAager tiveness not frequent with her, she stroked his rough hand lovingly, ‘1 CONNICLIOOOKS. Com