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Updated: June 5, 2025
If eyes in themselves have no expression, then the soul, looking through, has full play. All Joan's youth and ignorance and unconscious wisdom shone forth. Mrs. Tweksbury amused her, but the man at the table disturbed her. She misinterpreted the calm glance he fixed upon her.
And being twins certainly modifies what might otherwise be concentrated." Doris felt her heart beat fast. She was not prepared to confide in Mrs. Tweksbury, certainly not at present. She loved the old woman for her good qualities, but she shrank from putting herself at the mercy of Mrs. Tweksbury's "inherited intuitions!" So she said nothing, but sent for the children.
Then among the first to call after Doris's return was Mrs. Tweksbury, an old and valued family friend, a woman who was worth one's while to gain as friend, for she could be a desperate foe. She had formed all her opinions of Meredith Thornton's tragedy upon what she knew and loved concerning the girl, and what she knew nothing whatever about, concerning Thornton. To Mrs. Mrs.
"Next winter I may be able to go to New York," she comforted herself; "or I'll send Nancy to Emily Tweksbury; the child shall have her life chance." But with Doris the inevitable was happening: she was sliding gracefully down the inclined plane which others had arranged for her. She was making no effort, because none was required of her.
Just use your time, until I bring her back, in thinking of the good days on ahead when we'll have her always, you and I." Mrs. Tweksbury relaxed. "She's a blessed child, Ken. She always was." Raymond arrived late one May afternoon. Joan was dressing for dinner, dressing slowly, tremblingly she did not mean to go downstairs until dinner was served if she could avoid it.
At first women came largely to the pretty, attractive rooms; then, occasionally, men, rather timidly, presented themselves, but finding themselves taken for granted and the food above reproach, they appeared in numbers and enjoyed it. And then one rather gloomy, early spring day Mrs. Tweksbury came upon the scene. Joan knew her at once, although the old face was more wrinkled and delicate.
Nancy was worthy, as Martin often said, to carry on the truest American tradition of womanhood, so it became a reverent concern to help this matter personally, and nationally, on its course. Young men swarmed about Nancy because, as Mrs. Tweksbury truly said, the ideal was in their hearts and they were stirred by it. And Nancy was radiant and lovely.
He seems to feel he ought to be cheered for whooping the thing on; making Raymond jealous, you know." "Dear boy!" "Thanks, Doris. He is something worth while." Mrs. Tweksbury was so expansive in her happiness that she embarrassed Nancy. She fairly bounded over the fragrant garden of new love and scanned the wide pastures beyond.
Tweksbury hadn't butted in at that point and made it a matter of honour to the boy to to carry on! "Well, once he mounted that horse he rode it as he did all others hard and grim. He never played in all his life. He's been making good. Society he loathes; women do not exist for him, outside of Mrs. Tweksbury. I bet he knows her past and is paying back for his dad he's like that.
Tweksbury relied absolutely upon what she termed her inherited intuition. This was quite outside feminine intuition. The Tweksbury male intellect had been judicial from the first, and "the constant necessity of knowing men and women," as Mrs. Tweksbury often explained, "had left its mark upon the family." "We know! That is all there is to say. We know!" So Mrs.
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