The Argosy — page 201: what you’re looking at

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

184 The Village Blacksmith. ‘¢ Better, Vera! I love you better than my life! My love for her was hardly worthy the name of love.” ‘Then I forgive you, but I am very angry with her.” Poor Vera! She was destined to be still more angry, and with more cause, with Mrs. Jamieson before very long. Meanwhile, the lovers sauntered slowly home, all unconscious of the storm which was to meet them on their return. CHAPTER VIII. MR. RYOT TEMPEST IS DEFIED. GRIEF had not made any serious ravages on Mrs. Jamieson’s coun- tenance. lts outward and visible signs were yet further diminished on that Saturday afternoon when Captain Raleigh was asking Vera to be - his wife. Three months had elapsed since Mr. Jamieson departed this life, and his widow seized the first decent opportunity of dis- | carding the weepers, widow’s caps and collars, those orthodox ‘ symbols of woe, all of which had been thorns in the flesh to her. Mr. Ryot Tempest was not sufficiently versed in the science of — feminine attire to know what precise alterations had taken place in Mrs. Jamieson’s dress since he last saw her; the masculine mind — rarely descends to details. All he knew was that the general effect was pleasing, and his friend looked younger and handsomer than ever. Their friendship had made great strides within the last two months, and they were now on very intimate terms—so intimate that they did not feel obliged to talk for the mere sake of saying something. . Mrs. Jamieson understood to a nicety how to make a man com-' fortable ; in fact, she understood the superior sex thoroughly. She. had made it her study from her youth up; she knew its strong points and its weak, its virtues and its vices. Above all, she knew its most vulnerable spot. : ‘‘ Please make yourself quite at home. I can’t let you smoke in' this room, for fear of Mrs. Grundy and other visitors ; but if you would like a pipe, we will go into the library,” she said, whem Mr. | Tempest arrived. | “Thanks ; I don’t smoke,” said Mr. Ryot Tempest. | ' Mrs. Jamieson gave a sigh of relief, for in point of fact the smell of smoke was most disagreeable to her; but she was one of those women who will patiently endure the fumes of tobacco for the | sake of masculine society. | Sit still and rest in your special chair, then,” she said, wheeling | a luxurious arm-chair up to the brightly burning fire, and taking up some knitting, which served a double purpose. ‘The red wool made’ her pretty hands look whiter than ever, and also enabled her to pose as a Dorcas, as the result of her labour was destined, when finished: by her maid, to adorn the shoulders of some poor woman. GomiiGcsdooks.com