She made a wry little grimace which fortunately he did not see.
“This goodness is nauseating me,” she thought. “I shall beat it back about to-morrow.”
“Look!” he cried, as the road made a sharp curve. “There it is!”
“You can lift your eyes to the hills! What a love of a place—way up on tiptoes. I’ll be the little fish out of water up there!”
Top Hill Tavern was on a small plateau at the summit of one of the hills. The ranch-house, long, low and fanciful in design, connected by a covered portico with the kitchen, dairies and buildings, was misleading in name, for a succession of higher hills was in sight. A vined pergola, flower gardens, swings, tennis courts and croquet grounds gave the place a most unranch-like appearance.
As they rode up to the entrance porch, a woman came out of the house, and instantly the big, appraising eyes of the little newcomer felt that here was a type unknown to her. She was slender, not very tall, but with a poise and dignity of manner that compelled attention. Her eyes were gray; her lashes, brows and hair quite dark. There was a serenity and repose of manner about her—the Madonna expression of gentleness—but with an added force.
“We looked for you last night, Kurt,” she said in a voice, low and winning.
“Ran out of gasoline and had to spend the night on the road,” he explained. “Mrs. Kingdon, this is a little girl—”
She didn’t give him the opportunity to finish.
“Come in out of the sun,” she urged.