The Argosy — page 208: what you’re looking at

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

Fohn Davidson. IgI “Oh, I hardly know any of ¢hem,” answered Mrs. Hattley, drawing herself up a little. ‘I referred to people who are staying with me.” “And how does Mr. Hattley like that ?” said Victoria, after staring for a moment at her sister. “T don’t know, I’m sure,” replied Mrs. Hattley, still more stiffly. “Well, Sophia,” said the girl, as they got out at the portico of Mr. Hattley’s palatial residence: ‘ I will only remark that when you began so sensibly by marrying Mr. Hattley, it was a pity you did not continue in the same path.” Then, soon after this home-coming, had followed the ball. As Victoria sat thus, with her head a little raised, looking earnestly over at the door, Mrs. Hattley came up unobserved and touched her on the shoulder. ‘Absorbed in your mania, as usual, Victoria,” she said, a little grimly, but casting a quick, loving glance into the girl’s beautiful face— she adored her younger sister. Victoria had never been without a mania of one sort or another since the days of her childhood. It was part of her nature always to be enthusiastic over something. About a year ago she had chanced on a passion for phrenology and physiognomy. During this year she had probably read at least half the books that ever were written on the subjects, and’ claimed, besides, to have made several important discoveries on her own account. Mrs. Hattley complained that this mania was more grievous than any of the others, for it not not only exceeded them in power, but actually appeared to be growing stronger as it became older. Victoria started delightedly round at Mrs. Hattley’s touch on her shoulder. Sophia,” she said, in a quick undertone, ‘who is the young man standing in that nearest doorway? He has just come in.” ‘In the nearest doorway,” repeated Mrs. Hattley, turning to look. “Oh,” rather indifferently, ‘‘ that is John Davidson.” She studied him in the same absorbed way for a moment longer. ‘‘A most remarkable forehead, Sophia,” she said, energetically; “a forehead which may prove exceedingly serviceable to me in many ways. Please go round and bring John Davidson here.” Mrs. Hattley attempted, as usual, to remonstrate. ‘Tt is really perfectly ridiculous, Victoria. Besides, I saw you dancing with Sir Archibald. Where is he?” “If you don’t go and secure John Davidson,” said the girl, still furtively watching, ‘‘he may escape me. I know every line of Sir Archibald’s face, and each line is more uninteresting than the other. I sent him away to look for my fan. I shall not dance again to-night.” A few minutes later, with a somewhat indifferent grace, Mrs. Hattley, a little flushed by her repeated incursions about the outskirts of the Lancers, returned with the young man from the doorway. ' “Mr. John Davidson—Miss Egerton,” she introduced, frigidly. ‘How do you do, Mr. John Davidson. Sit down,” said Victoria ; Cconniclooolks (SO