The Argosy — page 253: what you’re looking at

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

236 Maison Malotunte, Robert had written. I was too depressed to feel wounded at the tone of his reply, or might have resented his agreeing with me on the desirability of breaking off the engagement. In a postscript he added that he had the promise of the vicarage of Capel-le-Ferne, and its 41,500 a-year; and I came to the conclusion that his joy at his worldly advancement had taken away the sting from his heart’s adversity. I was thankful that it was so. ‘The morning was clear and bright, and a swim in the sea was a tempting remedy to drown dull care, so I strolled down leisurely to the beach. I was late, and when I emerged from my ‘‘cabane” found a crowd of gossiping idlers in possession of every chair and available seat. Not a nook or corner but was filled with gay couples, working, chattering, smoking, and ‘ frivolling.” Classically draped in my white wrapper, my hair piled up on high, undisfigured with the oilskin cap the French ladies affected, I hurriedly walked through the criticising audience, and leaving my mantle in Perrine’s care, was soon disporting myself in the crisp sunny waves. After a longer swim than usual I waded out a dripping Niobe. I looked for Perrine and my wrapper—in vain; she was nowhere to be seen. After a momentary hesitation I prepared to run the gauntlet of the assembled multitude and make a quick rush at my sheltering cabane. With a sudden inspiration, I unloosed my long hair and let its shining golden glory fall around my costume, thereby trying to feel a little less abject, and so made my way through the ‘‘mob,” as I spitefully called the loungers surrounding the cabanes. With a ludicrous sense of humiliation and flaming cheeks, I saw Horace in lively conversation with a Parisian elegante, exactly in front of my haven of refuge. I made a frantic dart at the canvas door, to be ereeted with the sight of an unmistakable pair of manly boots. I turned and fled—oh! miserie! in my confusion I had forgotten the number. I must pass them, vaguely wondering if beach etiquette expected me to acknowledge Horace. I prepared for another dash— when a lady obligingly pointed out a canvas tent with a polite “cest la, mademoiselle,” and I rushed in to hide my hlushes under the friendly canvas. On my return, Bonne-maman told me she expected the Baroness de Pontac and her daughter and Horace. Although I was broken-hearted, vanity was not dead ; I determined to look my best. I gathered my hair in a knot, and placed among the wavy fringe of curls some gorgeous crimson tinnias. I half feared a rebuke from Bonne-maman as to being overdressed—so slipped on a black silk gown, wherein I had artfully inserted a white lace tucker and shiny jet-embroidered ruffles; another cluster of scarlet tinnias and black mittens finished off the severe and becoming costume, in which I entered the room prepared to make the ac- quaintance of the hateful de Pontacs. Mdlle. Berthe only was there, arrayed in fashionable attire, and I ECORNIE OOO KSa(EO) a