Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 29, 2025
At least there were not present exactly the harmony and tranquillity that are conceded to be the best sauce for one's food. The wedding, of course, was the all-absorbing topic of conversation; and Billy, between Aunt Hannah's attempts to be polite, Marie's to be sweet-tempered, Mrs. Hartwell's to be dictatorial, and her own to be pacifying as well as firm, had a hard time of it.
The brow was expansive and almost transparent in its purity, the dark, hazel eyes were singularly brilliant, while the contour of lips and chin was partially concealed by a heavy mustache and board. The first glance at his face impressed strangers by its extreme pallor, but in a second look they were fascinated by the misty splendor of the eyes. In truth, those were strange eyes of Guy Hartwell's.
Hartwell's old home in Vermont, stopped over in Boston for a two days' visit. She made her headquarters at Cyril's home, but very naturally she went, without much delay, to pay her respects to Bertram, Jr. "Mr. Hartwell's brother isn't well," she explained to Billy, after the greetings were over. "You know he's the only one left there, since Mother and Father Hartwell came West.
Hartwell's train was found to be gratifyingly on time; and in due course Billy was extending a cordial welcome to a tall, handsome woman who carried herself with an unmistakable air of assured competence. Accompanying her was a little girl with big blue eyes and yellow curls. "I am very glad to see you both," smiled Billy, holding out a friendly hand to Mrs.
At the time, no connection was made between Hartwell's death and the death of William Sherbourne. Sherbourne had continued to live in the home he had built for Irene Tackley, and one morning in January, 1933, he was found dead. Suicide was the verdict of the coroner's inquest, for he had been shot by his own revolver.
Her white slippers tapped the platform nervously, and her hair, under the light scarf of lace, fluffed into little broken curls as if it had been blown by the wind. "Miss Billy, Miss Billy, what can this mean?" gasped the man. "Where is Mrs. Stetson?" "At Mrs. Hartwell's you know she is giving a reception to-night. But come, we must hurry! I'm after Mr. Bertram." "After Mr. Bertram!" "Yes, yes."
An iron hand seemed to clutch her heart, and again a shudder crept over her as he seated himself beside her, saying: "I am very much pained to find you here. I am just from Dr. Hartwell's, where I expected to see you." He paused, for something about her face rather disconcerted him, and he took her hand again in his. "How could you expect to find me there, after reading my last letter?"
A slight smile curved his lips as he watched Beulah's countenance. She offered no comment, and he perceived that the on dit was not new to her. "Beulah, I suppose you have heard of Dr. Hartwell's intended journey to the East? What an oddity he is! Told me he contemplated renting a bungalow somewhere in heathendom, and turning either Brahmin or Parsee, he had not quite decided which.
"Ah," said Houston, "how did you hear of that?" "There was a friend of mine there, who overheard Hartwell's talk, and afterward saw you go up and speak to him. Having seen you in our office, he had a little curiosity as to what was going on. He said Hartwell cursed you up hill and down, but that you were so damned cool the old fellow couldn't rattle you.
"I think I never saw anything in my life so lovely! "I thought you'd like it," gloried Bertram. "You know I said to wait!" But even with this, Class Day for Billy was not finished. There was still Hartwell's own spread from six to eight, and after that there were the President's reception, and dancing in the Memorial Hall and in the Gymnasium.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking