Life — September 30, 1897 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

266 Journalistic. HE tingered by her lover's side For still another last caress; And when she pressed him not to go, He told her he was “going to press.” L. BC Our Fresh. Air Fund. Previously acknowledged... Green Island Sunday School, $4,266 sa 10 © . 1300 Frank, Elizabeth, Jack, Susan and a 1060 3.00 34,304 56 As Told by the Girl. IN THREE CONVERSATIONS. (11.) ‘©7 AM so sorry! Does it ache badly, dear?" said Mrs. Keith, sympathetically, “Not so very bad. I only want to get out of the glare for a while. You will excuse me, won't you?" I asked, hardly able to hear my voice, for the buzz in my poor head. “Why, of course, dear. You had no need to ask. Just run up to the library. You'll be sure to find no one, and the light is dim there. It will help you, I'm sure.” The hall was clear as I passed through, and the open doors showed me the crowd swirling to a waltz from the ‘*Geisha.” 1 didn’t stop, but hurried on up the steps and into the big, sombre room at the head of the stairs. The logs smouldered lazily on the irons, and a lamp burned dimly at either end of the room—too bright for my poor eyes, though, thought 1, as I stepped into a little alcove and threw myself on the window-seat. I must have dozed off, for they had evidently been in the room sev- eral minutes before I was conscious of their presence, and then I but lazily recognized Kitty's voice, though they were almost within arm's reach. The tall, black figure beside her I knew not at all, “What a relief,” she was saying, as she spread her hands to the fire, “Isn't it,” said he, lounging easily beside her, with one broad shoulder propped against the mantel-shelf. It must be a dream, I thought with * LIFE: a shudder; some mad, willful dream. But no, he spoke again, and this time my heart flew to my throat, and I trembled like a leaf in the wind, It was he! “Where did Miss Towneshend dis- appear to?" he asked. “She must have gone home,” an- swered Kitty. ‘* She had one of her dreadful headaches to-night, poor girl.” “I'm sorry for her—and myself, too. She had promised me a waltz.” He was lazily opening and shutting her fan. “Will I do as a substitute?" asked she, after a pause that seemed inter- minable. “A perfect one.” He shut the fan with aclick and stood erect. ‘Come, we'll go at once.” aid she, slowly, ‘* not quite yet. I have something to say to you, Mr. Appleton.” “To say to me?” he questioned. “Yes,” answered the poor girl. white, and as she stood there with her little hands clinched at her side, and her lips compressed and dry—I could tell they were dry, for every second or soshe would moisten them with her tongue—she looked very brave, and every inch womanly. As for me, I felt as if I were being sprayed with alternate douches of melted ice and molten metal. I knew what was coming. “T am quite at your service, Miss Allerton,” he added, Why could he not sce, and why did he not take the child in his arms? Yes, 1 would have given him to her! “You'll think it very strange,” she started, ‘‘and perhaps it is. But don't misunderstand me—please not that,” and she looked at him plead- ingly. He didn’t speak, and she went on rapidly: ‘* All these months just past I've wanted you to know— but you wouldn't see—or didn't care to—that I—I loved you!” He stood silently for a moment, with his head bent and his gloved hands twisting nervously behind him, It seemed hours to me, for my heart had absolutely ceased to beat! Then he spoke, jerkily and fast, but with an effort that was painful even to me, numb as I was. “Miss Allerton”—(she drooped under the ‘‘ Miss Allerton” like a scorched flower)—"' Miss Allerton, I beg of you to understand how fully l appreciate the honor you do me. I feel like a pigmy in my own estima- tion when I think of what you offer me. I can only meet your frankness, however, with frankness; I owe that to both of us, don’t 1?" He paused, but she made no answer. ‘Don’t let me hurt you—I only want to be honest with you. I feel that it would be impossible—" ‘ “Stop!” She had found voice at last, and once more raised her face. It seemed drawn and pinched, with such a look! It brought tears to my eyes. ‘I am going now,” this with a wan little smile, and she swayed forward a step or two toward the door. He was at her side and took her hand, ‘No, no, ] am all right, ° she said, steadily, and disengaging her hand she slipped swiftly out of the room, he looking blankly after. My heart began to pound out the seconds, and I thought surely he must hear its rappings as he sat in the low chair, gazing dejectedly at the flickering fire. A glance through the frosted pane showed me moving figures silhouetted against the striped canvas, and the hoarse call of foot- men told that the dance was over. Would he never move? And if he was going to sit there till morning, would it be possible for me to slip by him unobserved? I drew the por- tiere slightly aside and stepped out. At that moment he turned and faced me, ‘“‘Miss Towneshend!” he cried, springing to his feet. ‘* Where do you come from?” His eyes shot from me to the door, which he saw it was impossible for me to have entered while he was sitting, and then back to me again. I could see him men- tally and physically pulling himself together, and he never looked hand- somer or stronger. ‘You have heard,” said he, at last, in a low voice. ‘ Everything,” I answered, icily.