New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1882-11-22
A. LOVE TEST.

Oh, mother, what do you think? I've
just heard the awfullest news! Mr..
Stacey. the great merchant, has failed
in business, and Nora has gone to work
for her living actually, mamma-gone
to be a pastry-cook!'
"Great heavens, Lillian, you're mad!
Nora, Stacy, the beauty and belle, a
pastry cook! Absurd! Where in the
world did you hear such nonsense?''
Mrs. Langdon's face was the picture
OF CONSERVATION. Her daughter paused
before the long mirror, and arranged
her blonde crimps with an air of salts
faction.
''Belle Lindsay told me-" went on
Miss Lillian. '.She says the Staceys
have closed their fine house, and gone
off somewhere-all but Nora, and she is
at Mrs. Parsons, in the elevated capaci-
ty of pastry-cook! Belle says there is
no mistake about it, for she called on
Mrs. Parsons on purpose to find out the
truth.
''You know that Belle is quite at home
there, and she invented some excuse to
get into the kitchen, and there she saw
Nora Stacey, just as plain as she ever
saw anything in her life, with big
linen apron on, her curls tucked away
into a knot behind her ears, her sleeves
rolled up, and her hands in pan of
dough, just as hard at work as any
Bridget you ever saw! Isn't it dread
fulp''
''Shocking-absolutely shocking!
Wel,' with a sigh of infinite relief, .'let
us be thankful that we made the dis
covery in time! Lii, I wonder what
Mr.. Greville will say now?''
''That's just what I'd like to know,
mother. / believe that the loss of her
fortune would make little or no differ
ence to him, for he has enough and to
spare. But he is the proudest man in
existence, and never would endure the
shock of hearing that the woman he
loved had demeaned herself in such q
fashion, depend upon it, mamma
Lillian Langdon paused, and glanced
llstlessly from the open window. They
were passing the summer at the R
Hotel, and it was overcrowded that
season. She started in confusion as her
eyes fell upon a huge lounging-chair
tipped lazily back on the cool verandah
outside the window, a pair of arms in de-
cidedly masculine coat-sleeves, a white
hand upon which huge diamond
sparkled, holding newspaper, while q
Whit of fragrant cigar smoke curled up
into the air. Charlie Greville had over
heard every word of the conversation.
THE proudest man in existence
folded his newspaper and arose, with
comical expression upon his handsome
face.
"What can that chatter-box mean?"
he muttered, as he moved slowly away.
'By Jove! it's worth inquiring into.''
s'There, Dell, hand me the raisins;
you've stoned them very nicely. Beat
the eggs now for the icing. That's the
next thing in the programme, / believe;
isn't it, Mrs. Parsons?''
Nora Stacey turned pair of roguish
blue eyes upon the kind face beside the
kitchen table.
Whatever might be the extent of the
Staceys reverses, they seemed to trouble
Nora very slightly.
She wore pink calico dress and
white linen collar; her hair was knotted
simply at the back of her head, pink
rose, from the rosebush just outside the
kitchen window, nesting amid the curly
brown tresses, a huge linen apron COW
ering and protecting her dress.
A week before she had appeared in
Mrs. Featherbrain's drawing-roo at
tired in costume which had cost a
cool thousand, and a set of pearls fit for
royal princess; but she had not looked
one half SO pretty as she did this June
morning, standing in the great cheer
full shady kitchen cup to her eyes, in
baking.
Nora Stacey was highly accom-
plished young lady. She could sing
divinely, and chatter French like mag
pie; she could dance like sylph; could
do wonderful execution on the piano:
was learned in all sorts of fancy needle
work; and more-she could make the
ightest, snowiest bread, the most de,
lcious cake. and the pufiest, flakiest
pastry Imaginable.
A ring at the door-bell. Little Dell
(Mrs. Parsons housemaid) disappears
for a moment, returning painting, ex-
cited. with a square of bristol board in
her hand.
''For Miss Nora,'' she says, laying it
before the self-same young lady.
Nora glances over the top of the cake
which she is icing, and reads the name
from the card aloud, coolly:
''Charles Greville.''
Her blue eyes flash, and her pink
cheeks grow pinker.
Mrs. Parsons, ! she cries laughingly,
but with an under current Of earnest
ness in her manner, which shows Of
how much Importance it is to her, 81
am going to receive Mr.. Greville just as
ami
IN ora!''
II lease now. do NOT object! 1harn 8