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
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.