business," she amended.

"Rob doesn't like him," declared Ruth, "just because he has money and
good looks and doesn't work for his living, and likes pretty colour
schemes. He probably gets that from having seen so much wonderful art in
his travels. Aren't painters just as good as bridge-builders? Rob
doesn't think so. She wants every man to get his hands grubby."

Roberta turned about, laughing. "This one isn't even a painter. Go to
bed, you foolish, analytical child. And don't dream of the beautiful
guest who admired your corn-coloured frock."

"He only liked it because it set off your blue one," Ruth shot back.

"He said nothing whatever about my lovely new white gown," Rosamond
called after her.

Roberta came up to her sister-in-law from behind and put both arms about
her. "Stephen came and whispered in my ear to-night," said she, "and
wanted to know if I had ever seen Rosy look sweeter. I said I had--an
hour before. He asked what you had on, and I said, 'A gray kimono--and
the baby on her arm.' He smiled and nodded--and I saw the look in his
eyes."

"Rob, you're the dearest sister a girl ever had given to her," Rosamond
answered, returning the embrace.

"And yet you two say I don't care for colour schemes," Roberta reminded
her as she returned to her hair-brushing. "I care enough for them to
want them made up of colours that will wash--warranted not to fade--that