Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 13, 2025
"But Calderwell made it so emphatic, you see, about all the brothers. He said that William had lost his heart long ago; that Cyril hadn't any to lose; and that Bertram " "But, Mr. Arkwright, Bertram is is " Billy had moistened her lips, and plunged hurriedly in to prevent Arkwright's next words.
Calderwell had gone to parts unknown. To himself Bertram shamelessly owned that the more "unknown" they were, the better he himself would be pleased. It was on a very cold January afternoon, and Cyril was hurrying up the hill toward Billy's house, when he was startled to see a slender young woman sitting on a curbstone with her head against an electric-light post. He stopped abruptly.
Would anything ever blot out those awful words: "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 "? It seemed now that always, for evermore, they would ring in her ears; always, for evermore, they would burn deeper and deeper into her soul.
Bertram Henshaw, Hugh Calderwell left Boston and did not return until more than a month had passed. One of his first acts, when he did come, was to look up Mr. M. J. Arkwright at the address which Billy had given him. Calderwell had not seen Arkwright since they parted in Paris some two years before, after a six-months tramp through Europe together.
There was a good deal in the book that Billy did not like, and there were some statements that worried her; but yet there was much that she tried earnestly to follow. She was still striving to be the oak, and she was still eagerly endeavoring to brush up against those necessary outside interests. She was so thankful, in this connection, for Alice Greggory, and for Arkwright and Hugh Calderwell.
She was poor, and not very strong. She sorely needed the shielding love and care of a good husband. What more natural than that her old-time friend and almost-sweetheart, M. J. Arkwright, should be that good husband? That really it was more Arkwright and less Alice that was being considered, however, was proved when the devotion of Calderwell began to be first suspected, then known for a fact.
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?"
"Well, I can't. In the first place, no girl would think he was serious; or if by any chance she did, she'd soon discover that it was the turn of her head or the tilt of her chin that he admired TO PAINT. Now isn't that so?" Billy laughed, but she did not answer. "It is, and you know it," declared Calderwell. "And that settles him. Now you can see, perhaps, why none of these men will marry."
For instance, I know a 'Billy' but he's a girl." Calderwell gave a sudden start. "You don't mean Billy Neilson?" The other turned sharply. "Do you know Billy Neilson?" Calderwell gave his friend a glance from scornful eyes. "Do I know Billy Neilson?" he cried. "Does a fellow usually know the girl he's proposed to regularly once in three months?
But again was she unable to finish her sentence, and again was she forced to listen to a very different completion from the smiling lips of the man at her side. "Is an artist, of course," said Arkwright. "That's what Calderwell declared that it would always be the tilt of a chin or the curve of a cheek that the artist loved to paint." Billy drew back suddenly. Her face paled.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking