Still Ford did not appear. Josephine came, however, in riding skirt and
gray hat and gauntlets, treading lightly down the path that lay all in a
yellow glow which was not so much sunlight as that mellow haze which we
call Indian Summer. She looked in at the stable, and then came straight
over to Dick. There was, when Josephine was her natural self, something
very direct and honest about all her movements, as if she disdained all
feminine subterfuges and took always the straight, open trail to her
object.
"Do you know where Mr. Campbell is, Dick?" she asked him, and added no
explanation of her desire to know.
"I do," said Dick, with the rising inflection which was his habit, when
the words were used for a bait to catch another question.
"Well, where is he, then?"
Dick straightened up and smiled down upon her queerly. "Count ten before
you ask me that again," he parried, "because maybe you'd rather not
know."
Josephine lifted her chin and gave him that straight, measuring stare
which had so annoyed Ford the first time he had seen her. "I have
counted," she said calmly after a pause. "Where is Mr.
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