And Henrietta ran downstairs to telephone.
CHAPTER II
HENRIETTA TELEPHONES
She made an impressive picture, as she swept the telephone from its little table, even while she sank into the attendant chair. For Henrietta Webb was a striking-looking woman,—only her Bostonian restraint kept her from being a stunning one. Tall, but very graceful, muscular, yet strictly feminine, her demeanor was marked by a calm composure, that was absolutely unshakable.
“Mistress of herself, though china fall,” would be a true but an inadequate comment on Miss Webb’s self-control. She ruled herself, as she did all with whom she came in contact; she dominated every phase and circumstance of her life and that of the household. This domination of others was not obtrusive, was not always even evident, but it showed itself upon occasion.
One person, however, her brother Kimball, Miss Webb could not always rule. Though in many ways, and up to a certain point, he was a veritable mush of concession, yet there came a moment, not infrequently, when he calmly but very decidedly put her in her place. To do Henrietta justice, she took these moments rationally, bowed to his will, and set herself about achieving her desired end by other means.
And rarely, perhaps never, did she fail of achieving her desired ends.
Personally, Miss Webb was the type of woman that is adjudged beautiful by some people while others say, “I can’t see how you can possibly call her good-looking!”
She had great grey eyes, with dark—well, say, darkened lashes. She would have had grey hair, but she preferred dark brown,—and had it. A faint pink flush showed, usually, on her smooth cheeks, and her firm, beautifully shaped lips were a lovely red.
Now, don’t run away with the impression that Henrietta was awfully made-up and artificial looking. She was nothing of the sort. All her aids to Nature were so skilfully achieved and so natural of effect that he who ran might read them as nature’s own. It would be only one who would peep and botanize who would discover the truth, and even he might not.
Miss Webb’s exquisitely proportioned figure, too, owed something but not all to the art of her corsetière and modiste. But her own good judgment and perfect taste kept them from overdoing anything, and the result came pretty near to being a perfect woman, nobly planned. And with the plans nobly carried out.