The Argosy — page 163: what you’re looking at

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

By the Sad Sea Waves. Ig! Ottalie turns a scared face upon me, moans, and escapes from the room. What a culpable woman I am! Bribed with a kiss to promise ! But—poor Ottalie! And what a reckless, miserable mood she is in! I hear her voice ringing out overhead: “Et Uivresse, l’toresse, Pivresse et amour!” Not an exalted sentiment, is it, reader?—and for Sunday night ! Well, she learnt it in a hard school, this poor Ottalie of mine. I toss and turn my night away. Ottalie, I fancy, does the same. When she sits down to breakfast her face is pale, her eyes are encircled by purple rings. We scarcely speak to one another. Later, I come into the room again with my things on, look at her, and wait. “I am not going out,” she says; so I leave her sitting at the window. If she is happy, she is a better actress than I thought— she hides it so well. For three hours do I poke jelly-fish with the end of my sunshade. But jelly-fish are phlegmatic, and the sun is hot. In the course of time it becomes monotonous, and I rise and go homeward. ; As I close our gate I hear Jasper Daine’s voice. Sometimes it has struck me as being musical, but now it fairly sets my teeth on edge. What does it all mean? Has she told him herself? Well, it may be better, I think, as I walk in. Ottalie is bolt upright near the piano ; and Mr. Daine is tramping up and down the room. He comes to a sudden pause before me. “What is the matter?” I ask, not in the least because I require in- formation. I think he guesses this, for he eyes me in an extremely unpleasant way. “The matter! It is this,” he says in his harsh voice: “last night I was led to believe your sister would be my affianced wife; nay, that she was. To-day, when I ask about our wedding-day, she tells me she is already—married. That is all that is the matter, Miss Peyre.” I untie my hat-strings and sit down; I have not the least idea what else to do. “Forgive me,” she says, or rather moans, coming a few steps nearer him, with a scared, pitiful face. “For drawing me on! For making a fool of me! For allowing me to love you as I have never loved mortal yet! And when I know not whether to believe this strange assertion, and ask what your name is—and why, if you are married, you have let me call you Miss Peyre, Miss Ottalie—you refuse to speak ! Madam, I appeal to you,” he adds, turning fiercely to me, “‘is this the way to treat a gentleman? Have I, or have I not, a right to ask an explanation?” “Tell him, Deborah; tell him a//,” she says, trembling. comicbooks.4Qipy