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Updated: May 17, 2025
But she was Billy and being Billy, she advanced with a bright smile and held out a cordial hand not even wincing when the cut finger came under Calderwell's hearty clasp. "I'm glad to see you," she welcomed him. "You'll excuse my not appearing sooner, I'm sure, for didn't Bertram tell you? I'm playing Bridget to-night.
And now it was too late. Had not even Billy called his attention to the fact of Calderwell's devotion? Besides, had not he himself, at the very first, told Calderwell that he might have a clear field? Fool that he had been to let another thus lightly step in and win from under his very nose what might have been his if he had but known his own mind before it was too late!
I'd even adopt Calderwell's absurd Bildad and er Tomdad, or whatever it was, rather than have those poor little chaps insulted a day longer with a 'Dot' and a 'Dimple. Great Scott!" And, entirely forgetting what he had come to the nursery for, Cyril strode from the room. "Ah goo spggggh!" commented baby from the middle of the floor.
According to Calderwell's own version of it, he had "settled down"; he was going to "be something that was something." And he did spend sundry of his morning hours in a Boston law office with ponderous, calf-bound volumes spread in imposing array on the desk before him. Other hours many hours he spent with Billy.
No, there's no chance for a romance there, I'll warrant." "But there's yourself." Calderwell's eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch. "Oh, of course. I presume January or February will find me back there," he admitted with a sigh and a shrug. Then, a little bitterly, he added: "No, Arkwright. I shall keep away if I can. I know there's no chance for me now."
As to Bertram being Billy's lover that idea had long ago been killed at birth by Calderwell's emphatic assertion that the artist would never care for any girl except to paint. Since coming to Boston, Arkwright had seen little of the two together. His work, his friends, and his general mode of life precluded that.
She could not forget Arkwright's face that day at the Annex, when she had so foolishly called his attention to Calderwell's devotion; and she could not forget, either, Alice Greggory's very obvious perturbation a little later, and her suspiciously emphatic assertion that she had no intention of marrying any one, certainly not Arkwright.
Not until the next evening, however, did he have an opportunity for what he called a real talk with any of his friends; then, in Calderwell's room, he settled back in his chair with a sigh of content. For a time his own and Calderwell's affairs occupied their attention; then, after a short pause, the tenor asked abruptly: "Is there anything wrong with the Henshaws, Calderwell?"
William, picking at his dinner as only a hungry man can pick at a dinner that is uneatable watched Billy with a puzzled, uneasy frown. Bertram, choking over the few mouthfuls he ate, marked his wife's animated face and Calderwell's absorbed attention, and settled into gloomy silence. But it could not continue forever. The preserved peaches were eaten at last, and the stale cake left.
That is a creepy piece of music when you play it in the dark!" And, for fear that he should suspect how her heart was aching, she gave a particularly brilliant and joyous smile. Once again at the mention of Calderwell's name Arkwright stiffened perceptibly. The fire left his eyes. For a moment he did not speak; then, gravely, he said: "Calderwell?
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