The Argosy — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

A Girl’s Folly. | 25 ‘What substance?” asked the young lady innocently. ‘Thomas Watkyn. A union with him would be avery substantiah one indeed; a thoroughly good settlement in life for you. Mr. Vavasour at best (looking at him in this light) is but a shadow. These aristocratic, flirting fops rarely have marriage in their heads. The amusement of the moment; the talking sentimental nonsense with a silly girl : that is all they look after —Will you take another cup of tea?” “Oh no, thank you. ‘This lecture is as good as ten cups of tea.” ‘‘'Then ring the bell.” Patty, the young servant, came in and carried away the tea-tray. Mrs. Reece went upstairs to put away the clothes ironed that day, and Miss Reece went back to the open window, leaned against its side-frame, and fell into a reverie. She had a pretty good notion herself that matters would not go on much longer; Thomas Watkyn would not let them. More than once he had said to her a few words; and she had laughed them off. He was a fine man, and a good man, and a well-educated man for those days; but he was a farmer. Alison had thought herself for- tunate that he should choose her, for she was not of much account in the world, and could say with the milkmaid in the old song, My face is my fortune: and if she was not desperately in love with him, she liked him very much, esteemed and respected him. But a stranger made his appearance in the place, one Reginald Vavasour: who had come to read with the clergyman, previous to passing some examination. A high-bred man of good family, there could be no doubt of that, and a man of fascinating manners, given to take the female heart by storm. He had accidentally made the acquaintance of pretty Alison Reece, had talked a great deal of lazy nonsense to her for his own amusement, just to pass the time away during the intervals of his attendance in the Reverend Mr. Tarbey’s study ; and Alison was supremely fascinated. Beside that slender young aristocrat, whose clothes were of perfect cut, and whose easy manners (not to say insolent) were as perfect as his clothes, whose very drawl betrayed his conscious superiority to men of the rustic locality, no matter what their standing might be, what could plain unpretending Thomas Watkyn be in Alison’s sight ? Nobody. Yet he was good-looking in his way, this Thomas Watkyn. A well- grown, well-made, fine man, beside whom the other looked like a boy, with a calm, sensible face, and quiet, unobtrusive ways. But again — who could admire a homely face, its steady, thoughtful, _kindly eyes, and its brown, old-fashioned whiskers, when there was another face over the next field, whose dark orbs were of a flashing brilliance, and whose'curled-out black moustache was killing? Not silly, inexperienced, vain Alison Reece. Leaning against the window-frame, Alison watched a tall straight figure coming across the meadows, and her brow went into a scowl. It was Thomas Watkyn: and she wondered what brought him so CONIC OOOKSs.eO®