The Argosy — page 134: what you’re looking at

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

A Capriccio. 11g “‘ Ah, the hero of your home,” he said, looking at me intently. “‘ Some village Adonis in fustian, with the strength and appetite of a bear, and—prominent feet.” “Dick a hero? If you knew him you could not say that. No, Dick is only the scapegoat of our village, who leads all the other boys into mischief. But he is very good at heart, and we have played together since we were all babies in the nursery.” “IT was beginning to think he might be more than a friend. Will you believe me if I tell you that I was almost ready to hate him and to feel that ” He checked himself, with a half impatient look at my puzzled face; then added: ‘‘Come, you do not understand me, and I was talking nonsense. How long shall you stay in London ?” “Until Saturday,” I replied. “ After that lam going home again for a little while before I have to go away for good. This is a treat to make up for the dull life that is coming.” “Why dull? Surely you are not one of those people who always expect the future to be full of trouble? Do you mean that you are going to leave home?” “Yes. I am going to be a ‘lady’s companion,’” I answered demurely, stealing a glance at Lord Everril to see how he liked this announcement, and whether he appeared ashamed of me now that he knew that I was going to work for my living. ‘ Mamma is looking out for a situation, for she says that Iam old enough now to be useful.” “You shall not!” exclaimed Lord Everril. ‘‘ You are too young and too bright to become the slave of an ill-tempered old woman. You are an Amaryllis, meant to enjoy a life of freedom in sunlit meadows, with roses under your feet, and no cares to trouble yourself with from day’s end to day’s end.” “But you know we are very poor,” I said simply, ‘‘and there are the little ones growing up. I must help mamma if I can, and take some of the care off her shoulders. Ah, you do not know what poverty means.” | “Do I not? I am poor myself,” he replied ; ‘‘next door to the workhouse.” I laughed sceptically, and shook my head. To me, who had known all my life what it is to be one of a large family living on a few hundreds a year, it sounded a little ridiculous to hear this young man, who looked as if he had been born with half-a-dozen golden spoons in his mouth, talking seriously of being in want of money. “You do not believe me?” he said. ‘‘But it is true. My uncle—whom my father succeeded to the title—left all his money to his only child, a girl; so that we are plagued with his name whilst she has the pleasure of spending his money. Consequently, here I am with barely enough to clothe myself with, whilst, what is far worse, it is supposed that the ‘honour of the Everrils’ is in my hands, and that I was sent into the world for the sole purpose of retrieving the family fortunes,” connicloooks (C(O)