The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1885-12-18
Desiree shook her head.

/
earned little-oh, so little! Sometimes
I went to bed without my supper be-
cause had not penny to buy it!''
Bob was silent. Somehow his heart
ached for this poor young creature
fresh pink and white complexion.
"I hope Lizzie will have the good
sense to like her." he thought, "but
there's no accounting for the freaks OF
a woman"
1t twas nearly dark when they reached
Olive Hill, and quite so when the car
riage that had been sent to the station
to meet the train deposited them at
Mrs. Foulke Ferrars' door.
'Did you bring me girl, Bob?" was
his sisters first question, hurled at
him through the darkness.
eyes, did"
Bob triumphantly produced Desiree.
Mrs. Ferrars eyed her keenly, seemed
not displeased with her youth and
bushes, asked one or two questions,
and then delivered her over to the
housekeeper-a grim, old Scotch
widow.
"Where did you get her Bob? at the
French intelligence Officer"
| OH, plCheu Heh up S1iu Doc'
evasively.
:.'Did she have a good recommenda-
tion?"
"First-rate," was the reckless an
swer.
"Where did she live last?"
But Bob at this point went offinto
ecstasies over the first tooth of his
niece, a. small morsel of humanity
| o1l ATrc,
Ferrars fell at once into the trap, and
Desiree's preferences" were forgotten.
The French girl proved a quick, handy
waitress, ready to learn, and singular
ly graceful. Everybody liked her, and
! Bob best of all.
"Upon my word, Bob," said Mr..
Ferrars, one day, when the dessert
| was placed upon the table, and Desi-
rec had withdrawn, "you do nothing
| but stare at the little Parisienne!
do believe you are falling in love with
| herl''
"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Ferrars,
glancing quickly up. "Bob is far too
sensible for such piece of Quixotism
as that"
81 do not know that it would be
Quixotism," said Bob, stoutly. She's
certainly pretty.
"She is not lady!"
"But maintain that she is a LADY,"
"What obsurdity. Bob"
"Well, then, will you begood enough
| to tell me what constitutes a lady?"
Decentralization
s'Desiree is educated and refined"
"She is only servant!'
81 maintain that she is a lady for
all thatl'
Bob clung SO resolutely to his view
of the subject, that Mrs. Ferrars took
the first opportunity to tell her hus-
band confidentially, that she should
send Desiree away.
"What for?" he asked.
"Oh, dear" said his wife, men areso
stupid. Den'tyou see that Bob is fall
ing in love with her?''
"That's rather hard on the poor
girl, isn't it, to punish her for Bob's
folly?"
Mrs. Ferrars' face grew very rigid.
"I shall discharge her," she added.
ga servant has no business to be
prettier and more attractive than
others of her caste, and I saw Bob
talking to her last night in the gar
den."
So when Mr.. Robert Morrison came
home from the city the next night, a
tall, freckled-faced young man, a
nephew of the Scotch housekeeper, was
waiting on the table, and he looked in
vain for the light-footed, blue-eyed
French girl.
"Where is Desiree?" was mis- first
question.
81 have discharged her."
Bob's face grew dark, but Mrs. Fer
rars met his eyes with a bold defiance.
"What was this for?" he asked
sternly.
"Bob, you know you are getting too
fond of her. have some regard for
the poor girls character, if you have
none"
"Desiree Fontaine is a girl amply
ableto take care of her own character.
You have done cruel and unfeeling
thing Lizzie"
81 suppose l can turn away a SER
want when I please"
"Where has she gone?
81 do not know or care.
"And consequently you imagined
that l should not be able to discover
her whereabouts. You will find that
your precautions have been in vain"
That was all that was said on the
subject, and Mrs. Ferrars began after
day Or two to hope that her brother
had forgotten his penchant for the
pretty French waitress.
Just a fortnight after that there was
another state d'nner-party, and the
freckled-faced young man waited. Bob
did not come up until the last train,
and arrived in time for dessert, with
it's red and golden wines, peaches, and
temples of tinted ice. With him came
another guest, unexpectedly detained,
M. Fabilion, the French banker in
whose honor Mrs. Ferrars' dinner had
been especially given.
He was dignifed, white-haired old
man, whose wealth had made him
neither arrogant nor assuming.
"You must pardon my want of
punctuality," said the old gentleman,
with his graceful foreign bow to the
lady of the house, as she welcomed
him to a seat at her own right hand,
''but I have this day had great and
J1neynected Dlea sI1re -