Rising from the table, she went out on the piazza, and Robert instinctively followed her. If the long journey on horseback had tired her, she showed no sign of it, for she might have been a part of the morning as she stood there, smiling, with the sunlight on her wind-blown hair.
The heavy brown coil, with auburn lights and black shadows in it, had a strange fascination for Forsyth. He liked the way her hair grew around her forehead and temples, and the little curl that escaped at her neck. She was looking away from him, and he thought her unaware of his scrutiny till she said quietly: "Well, how do you like your new cousin? Do you think I will do?"
"Yes," he stammered, dimly grateful for the impulse that kept her face still turned away; "that is, very much."
"How am I going to get my horse over here," she demanded suddenly.
"What horse?" asked Robert, stupidly.
"The one I rode from Fort Wayne, of course. Did I understand you to say you had been to college?"
"Yes; I graduated."
"Really?" Beatrice turned upon him a dazzling smile. "I never should have thought it," she added pleasantly.
"Where is your horse?" he asked, crimsoning.