"And yet you two say I don't care for colour schemes," Roberta reminded
her as she returned to her hair-brushing. "I care enough for them to
want them made up of colours that will wash--warranted not to fade--that
will stand sun and rain and only grow the more beautiful!"
"What _are_ you talking about now, dear?" laughed Rosamond happily,
still thinking of what Stephen had said to Roberta.
CHAPTER V
RICHARD PRICKS HIS FINGERS
Hoofbeats on the driveway outside the window! Beside the window stood
the desk at which Richard was accustomed to work at Judge Gray's
dictation. And at the desk on this most alluring of all alluring
Indian-summer days in middle November sat a young man with every drop of
blood in his vigorous body shouting to him to drop his work and rush
out, demanding: "Take me with you!"
For there, walking their horses along the driveway from the distant
stables, were three figures on horseback. There was one with sunny
hair--Ruth--her brown habit the colour of the pretty mare she rode; one
with russet-gaitered legs astride of the little Arabian pony called
Sheik--Ted; one, all in dark, beautifully tailored green, with a soft
gray hat pulled over masses of dusky hair, her face--Richard could see
her face now as the horses drew nearer--all gay and eager for the
ride--Roberta.
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