Grace Harlowe's Problem

Their Dear, Too-brief Holiday was Drawing to a Close. Frontispiece.
Copyright, 1916, by Howard E. Altemus.

“And at this time next week we’ll all be back at work,” sighed Arline Thayer. “Not that I love work less, but the Sempers more,” she paraphrased half apologetically. “It’s been so perfectly splendid to gather home, and Elfreda was a darling to plan and carry out such a——”
“Noble enterprise,” drawled Emma Dean. “Behold in me a living witness to the truth of it. Before this time, when, oh, when, has this particular scion of the house of Dean had a chance to play in the nice clean sand and bathe in the nice green ocean? It is green, isn’t it, Grace? Elfreda says it’s blue, and those terrible, tiresome, troublesome twins say it’s gray, but I say——”
A shower of small pebbles, cast with commendable accuracy, rained down on Emma. Raising herself on her elbows from her recumbent position in the sand, she looked reproachful surprise at the Emerson twins who, crouched in the sand and holding a fresh supply of pebbles in readiness, awaited her next remark.
“There,” she declared calmly, “that simply proves the truth of my remark about terrible, tiresome, troublesome twins.”
Two slim blue figures dropped their pebbles, descended upon the protesting Emma, and dragged her across the sand toward the water.
“Are we tiresome?” demanded Sara sternly, as she and Sue, still clutching Emma, paused for breath.
“Are we troublesome?” from Julia.
“Not a bit of it,” Emma blandly assured them. “I said it only for the sake of alliteration. You are the most interesting persons I’ve ever met. I am so sorry I said you weren’t, and I’m so nice and comfortable now. I hadn’t thought of doing any further water stunts to-day.” She struggled to a sitting posture and beamed with owlish significance upon her captors.