Miss Beverly was neither tall nor short. She was of that divine and

indefinite height known as medium; slender but perfectly molded; strong

but graceful, an absolutely healthy young person whose beauty knew well

how to take care of itself. Being quite heart-whole and fancy-free, she

slept well, ate well, and enjoyed every minute of life. In her blood ran

the warm, eager impulses of the south; hereditary love of case and

luxury displayed itself in every emotion; the perfectly normal demand

upon men's admiration was as characteristic in her as it is in any

daughter of the land whose women are born to expect chivalry and homage.

A couple of years in a New York "finishing school" for young ladies had

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served greatly to modify Miss Calhoun's colloquial charms. Many of her

delightful "way down south" phrases and mannerisms were blighted by the

cold, unromantic atmosphere of a seminary conducted by two ladies from

Boston who were too old to marry, too penurious to love and too prim to

think that other women might care to do both. There were times,

however,--if she were excited or enthusiastic,--when pretty Beverly so

far forgot her training as to break forth with a very attractive "yo'

all," "suah 'nough," or "go 'long naow." And when the bands played

"Dixie" she was not afraid to stand up and wave her handkerchief. The

northerner who happened to be with her on such occasions usually found

himself doing likewise before he could escape the infection.

Miss Calhoun's face was one that painters coveted deep down in their

artistic souls. It never knew a dull instant; there was expression in

every lineament, in every look; life, genuine life, dwelt in the mobile

countenance that turned the head of every man and woman who looked upon

it. Her hair was dark-brown and abundant; her eyes were a deep gray and

looked eagerly from between long lashes of black; her lips were red and

ever willing to smile or turn plaintive as occasion required; her brow

was broad and fair, and her frown was as dangerous as a smile. As to her

age, if the major admitted, somewhat indiscreetly, that all his children

were old enough to vote, her mother, with the reluctance born in women,

confessed that she was past twenty, so a year or two either way will

determine Miss Beverly's age, so far as the telling of this story is

concerned. Her eldest brother--Keith Calhoun (the one with the

congressional heritage)--thought she was too young to marry, while her

second brother, Dan, held that she soon would be too old to attract men

with matrimonial intentions. Lucy, the only sister, having been happily

wedded for ten years, advised her not to think of marriage until she was

old enough to know her own mind.




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