New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1883-01-10
SET WITH THoKNs.

linen, wrapping on her mantle, she departed.
! From the French of Catule Mendee.
SET WITH THOKNs.
Rose Quincy came slowly down the
broad path, and pausing before an old
fashioned red-rose bush, began to se-
lect with dainty fingers some partly
opened buds which she fastened with
dellberation in the knot of lace at her
bosom.
A broad straw hat, with scarf of
white muslin shaded her features; and
her morning robe of white lawn daintily
ruff1ed. and draped in spotless purity,
the little nosegay of roses being the on
ly bit of color about her.
Philip Grantley, smoking his morn
ing cigar under one of the big elms,
stepped forward, tossing the fragrant
weed aside and doffing his straw hat.
He was fine looking fellow, with wav-
ing, jet-black hair, and bold gray eyes;
and when you find such combination
black hair ard grey eyes-you will
generally find a will as indomitable and
immovable as stone pyramid.
''How do you do, cousin Rose?' he
said.
The young lady surveyed him with
great Guinness. quite ignorant of his ex-
tended hand.
Il suppose YOU are Mr.. Grantley,"
she said, with the slightest possible
bend of her head; '.but I am not aware
OF any existing relationship between
| u.s.
"No? Then am not" rejoined the
young man, philosophically, rs he drop
ped his neglected hand into the pocket
of his loose flannel coat.
She looked at him in some perplexity
now, but his face was inscrutable.
'May have rose, Miss GurneyP''
he asked, with great politeness, his eyes
fixed upon the little cluster at her DO.
som.
'Oh, certainly! Help yourself" with
little graceful gesture toward the
blossom-laden bush.
But he only glanced upon it with q
smile and turned away as the breakfast
, bell rung out an imperative summons
from the house.
you will come in to breakfast2''
said Rose, with stiffness not at all
natural to her.
''How very kind you arer' murmured
Philip, languidly, as he sauntered on
by her side.
Papa, how can you expect me to
marry that man?" cried Rose, an hour
later, as she joined her father in the IL
brary.
lis he not agreeable to you, nv
dear?" querried Papa Quincy, a shade
Of anxiety drifting over his handsome
old face.
agreeable? why, papa, he is the
most-insufferable man L ever saw!
Such GOODNESS, and such insolent, grand
seignor ways! Why. wouldn't marry
him if he was the last man on the face
of the earth!'
swell, we'll, Rosamundi. there's no
compulsion about it, And Mr.. Cur
ney smothered a sigh. ''But I had
hoped you might fancy each other; the
boys father was an old friend of mine.
At least you can treat him courteously
while he stays with us. He is our
guest, remember
Rose left the room silently, with com.
pressed lips. Treat him courteously,'
indeed! Conventional courtesy seemed
utterly lost upon this young fellow who
made himself so entirely at home, and
who was discomposed at nothing.
In the days that followed, Philip was
like the girls shadow, waiting upon her
with the most scrupulous attention, vet
not hesitating to criticise her playing,
her singing, and her riding. Rose
quarrelled with him unconsciously; as
for Philip he was as imperturbable as
mortal man could be.
After all he could be most delight
full companion when he chose. Rose
realized this when on rainy days he
read, exquisitely, bits of her favorite au-
thors, while she busted herself with sew
ing; or when in the long, scented twi-
lights he related strange adventures in
faraway countries.
There had been not the slightest word
OF love between them; therefore it was
a good deal of a surprise when Philip,
lingering with her over the piano one
lovely Summer night, said suddenly
Rose, will you be my wife?''
With her heart in her mouth, and an
CRY establishment in her wide eyes. Rose
answered directly, -''No, sir!''
Philip did not seem to take her refu-
sal much to heart. He drummed out
little opera snatch rather absently on
the white keys, and presently went out
upon the lawn for smoke; while Rose,
very much disturbed, ran up to her
room and came down no more that
night.
The next day Mr.. Quincy was strick-
en- down with paralysis.
He was quite conscious. but as helpless
as little child, with no control of hands
or tongue.
The attempt at speech. the wistful en-
treaty Of his large eyes. wrung the
heart of poor little Rose, who was sure
that he desired to communicate some
thing to her.
When Philip came to the bedside, that
same dumb, passionate. beseeching
glance went out to him. The young
man seemed to understand it.
He bent over the stricken man quiet
". and said, with his hands upon the
poor helpless hands on the spread,
81 know what you wish to say, dear
friend. Do not be troubled EVERY
thing is right. Be comforted. 2