The Argosy — page 211: what you’re looking at

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

I94 Fohn Davidson. “Oh, Sophia, I thank you so much for introducing me to Mr. John Davidson. I have spent a most delightful evening in deciphering his forehead, and have besides discovered several important charac- teristics about him.” But Mrs. Hattley, with a gesture of impatience, had already passed on to her room. Il. ‘Wo is Mr. Davidson ?” It was the morning after the ball, and Victoria stood, with her walking things on, fastening her gloves and speaking to her sister just preparatory to going out. She had been receiving some com- mission for a fancy-wool shop, and still held a bundle of flossy silk in her one hand as she buttoned the glove with the other. In the middle of the buttoning she asked the above question. “Mr. John Davidson, pray,” corrected Mrs. Hattley; ‘‘ everyone always calls him so. You see there is another Mr. Davidson we know, a very important man indeed, not far from Bremingly. Oh, Mr. John Davidson is really a mere nobody—Mr. Hattley’s manager in fact. But he has made some important invention regarding looms, which has brought him into notice, and so, of course, we have to be civil to him. I positively do not understand, Victoria, what you can find so interesting about that young man,” A few minutes later Miss Egerton was wending her way along the crowded suburban high-road leading into the heart of Bremingly. It was a brilliant August morning, and she had on a cool toilette of somewhat delicate shade. As she came fair into the sunshine of the high-road, she put up her parasol with such intense earnestness of manner, that an observer would have judged her in great anxiety as to the probable effect of the sun on her dress. In point of fact, however, she was completely absorbed in a thought of an entirely different nature. She had studied Mr. John Davidson’s forehead last night very carefully, and yet had failed to decipher the existence of this inventive genius of which she had just heard from Mrs. Hattley. This was very serious. As she walked on thus in profound and particularly sweet-looking gravity, she lifted her eyes and became aware that Mr. John Davidson was just crossing the high-road before her into a side-street. His face was turned towards her—a singularly grave expression on it too—and as she looked he lifted his hat. Obeying a sudden impulse, she made him a somewhat excited little sign to stop. When she had crossed over and found him standing still, grave and a little pale, waiting for her, she felt almost confused, and could not imagine why she had made him stop. ‘‘Good-morning, Mr. Davidson,” she faltered, with heightened colour. | CORPMIELDOO; KS, (E0)