The question in his eyes was answered by Aunt Eleanor.
"Louise rode over to the north range to-day. She should be back now."
Winthrop scarce needed an introduction. He was Anne Marshall's brother.
That was sufficient for the host and hostess. He was made welcome--as he
was wherever he went. He had heard a great deal, from his sister, of the
Stones, and their beautiful niece, Louise Lacharme. He was enthusiastic
about the Moonstone Canon. He grew even more enthusiastic after meeting
Louise.
She came riding her black pony Boyar down the afternoon hillside--a
picture that he never forgot. Her gray sombrero hung on the saddle-horn.
Her gloves were tucked in her belt. She had loosened the neck of her
blouse and rolled back her sleeves, at the spring above, to bathe her
face and arms in the chill overflow. Her hair shone with a soft golden
radiance that was ethereal in the flicker of afternoon sunlight through
the live-oaks. From her golden head to the tip of her small riding-boot
she was a harmony of vigor and grace, of exquisite coloring and
infinite charm.
Her naturalness of manner, her direct simplicity, was almost, if not
quite, her greatest attraction, and a quality which Winthrop fully
appreciated.
Pages:
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302