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Updated: June 13, 2025
That you'd already had one good offer I'm not speaking of marriage and that you were going abroad next summer, and that they were all insufferably proud of you." "Nonsense!" scowled Arkwright, again, coloring like a girl. "That is only some of of Mrs. Henshaw's kind flattery." Calderwell jerked the cigar from between his lips, and sat suddenly forward in his chair. "Arkwright, tell me about them.
But he did not come again for some time, and when he did come, he sat stiffly silent, while his brothers did most of the talking. As to Calderwell Calderwell seemed suddenly to have lost his interest in impenetrable forests and unclimbable mountains. Nothing more intricate than the long Beacon Street boulevard, or more inaccessible than Corey Hill seemed worth exploring, apparently.
"Please don't think I am. I shouldn't see her if I was, of course." Arkwright changed his position suddenly, bringing his face into the shadow. Calderwell talked on without pausing. "No, I'm not in love with Billy. But Billy's a trump. You know that." "I do." The words were low, but steadily spoken. "Of course you do! We all do. And we want her happy.
Yes, I know him." Arkwright's lips snapped together crisply. "Yes. He said he knew you. That's why I'm counting on your help." "What do you mean?" "I mean I want you to get Henshaw away from him, and keep him away." Arkwright's face darkened with an angry flush. "Great Scott, Calderwell! What are you talking about? Henshaw is no kid to be toted home, and I'm no nursery governess to do the toting!"
"But I am a wife, and I'm not an efficient housekeeper; and Hugh Calderwell won't wait for me to learn. He's coming to-night. To-night! And I've got to do something. Never mind. I'll fix it some way. Good-by!" "But, Billy, Billy! Oh, my grief and conscience," fluttered Aunt Hannah's voice across the wires as Billy snapped the receiver into place.
If you would tend to your husband and your home a little more, and go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a little less " Oh, if only she could, indeed, forget! When Billy went up-stairs that night she ran across her "Talk to Young Wives" in her desk. With a half-stifled cry she thrust it far back out of sight.
He, too, had come to meet Billy and all the Henshaw brothers were vaguely conscious of a growing feeling of dislike toward Calderwell. Billy was unmistakably glad to see them and to see Calderwell. It was while she was talking to Calderwell, indeed, that William and Cyril and Bertram had an opportunity really to see the girl, and to note what time had done for her.
This time there was no circuitous journeying, no secrecy in the trip to New York. Quite as a matter of course the three brother made their plans to meet Billy, and quite as a matter of course they met her. Perhaps the only cloud in the horizon of their happiness was the presence of Calderwell.
Since Thanksgiving Bertram had known that it was love this consuming fire within him; and since Thanksgiving he had known, too, that it was jealousy this fierce hatred of Calderwell. He was ashamed of the hatred. He told himself that it was unmanly, unkind, and unreasonable; and he vowed that he would overcome it.
"I rather guess now I'm tending to my husband and my home!" she was crowing to herself. Just as Billy was about to leave the house the telephone bell jangled again. It was Alice Greggory. "Billy, dear," she called, "can't you come out? Mr. Arkwright and Mr. Calderwell are here, and they've brought some new music. We want you. Will you come?" "I can't, dear. Bertram wants me. He's sent for me.
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