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.

Toward the close of one of the most brilliant seasons the Capital had
ever known, less than a fortnight before Congress was to adjourn, the
wife of Grenfall Lorry received the news which spread gloomy