Ruth Farraday, in a rose-and-white striped satin sports skirt, with a fleecy, rose-coloured sweater and hat to match, made a very pretty picture against the background of Elizabeth's little room. "Like a rose against the blue of the sky," Elizabeth thought. "Her name ought to be Rose, anyway. How becoming she would be to Buddy's dark eyes and colouring."
"This is the room, Ruth," Peggy said, "you can look at it for two minutes, and then you've got to stop looking at it, because we are gathered together to-day for quite another purpose, to wit, to penetrate the mysteries of Blue Beard's closet."
"It's a lovely room," Ruth said, smiling. "I wouldn't have intruded on this very special occasion, except that it began to rain as I was bidding Peggy good-bye at the gate, and Peggy thought you would rather shelter me than have me run away through the flood."
"Yes, indeed," Elizabeth said, "and it will be fun to have you see what's in the closet if you don't mind."
"I shall adore it."
"I adore you," Elizabeth said to herself, "already."
"We'd better hurry," Peggy cried. "Ruth is getting ready to rave about the cradle settee and the flag-bottomed chairs. If we get started telling her the history of all the things in the room, we shan't get a look at Blue Beard's wives. Ruthie, dear, this is the key to the enchanted closet. Doesn't it look spooky? This house is a hundred and twenty-five years old, and see, all the doors have latches instead of knobs. Which leads us to this one particular door." Peggy linked an arm through that of her sister on one side and her friend on the other, "And presto! Here we are. Now, Elizabeth-Elspeth."
"One, two, three!" Elizabeth turned the big key in the ponderous lock, and the door swung wide.
"Blue Beard's wives' trousseaux!" Peggy said. "One hundred and one thousand two hundred and forty-three silk dresses of the Georgian period. I don't know when the Georgian period was, but I guess this is it."
Ruth stepped inside the closet.