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Updated: June 17, 2025
Arkwright stooped, of a sudden, to pick up a bit of paper from the floor. "No," he said quietly. "I didn't seem to improve my opportunities." This time he did not meet Calderwell's eyes. The good-byes had been said when Calderwell turned abruptly at the door. "Oh, I say, I suppose you're going to that devil's carnival at Jordan Hall to-morrow night." "Devil's carnival!
Cyril's not coming," she murmured. And again Bertram caught the twinkle in the downcast eyes. To Bertram the twinkle looked interesting, and worth pursuit; but at the very beginning of the chase Calderwell's card came up, and that ended everything, so Bertram declared crossly to himself. Billy found her dirt to dig in, and her furnace to shake, in Brookline.
Beginning with the "jamboree," which came off quite in accordance with Calderwell's prophecies, Arkwright spent the most of such time as was not given to his professional duties in deliberately cultivating the society of Bertram and his friends. To this extent he met with no difficulty, for he found that M. J. Arkwright, the new star in the operatic firmament, was obviously a welcome comrade.
With an assumedly gay little cry she sprang to her feet. "Come, come, what are you two children chuckling over?" she demanded, crossing the room abruptly. "Didn't you hear me say I wanted you to come and sing a quartet?" Billy blamed herself very much for what she called her stupidity in so baldly summoning Arkwright's attention to Calderwell's devotion to Alice Greggory.
Dad says," Calderwell's voice softened a little "dad says that William and his young wife were the most devoted couple that he ever saw; and that when she died she seemed to take with her the whole of William's heart that is, what hadn't gone with the baby a few years before. There was a boy, you know, that died." "Yes, I know," nodded Billy, quick tears in her eyes. "Aunt Hannah told me."
"Well, that counts out William, then," said Calderwell, with an air of finality. "But how about Bertram? You haven't settled Bertram," laughed Billy, archly. "Bertram!" Calderwell's eyes widened. "Billy, can you imagine Bertram's making love in real earnest to a girl?" "Why, I don't know; maybe!" Billy tipped her head from side to side as if she were viewing a picture set up for her inspection.
"I should think you were Mr. Cyril Henshaw! Mr. Calderwell is partial to ragtime, I'll admit. But there are some good things he likes." "There are, indeed, some good things he likes," returned Arkwright, with grim emphasis, his somber eyes fixed on what he believed to be the one especial object of Calderwell's affections at the moment.
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