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color of…” He
sought in vain to find an adjective and sighed to call it, “spun
gold, but lighter in color…thick in texture.”
    Sir Edward’s only interest was the fact that
he had a button in his pocket with the Berkley crest, the same at
the entrance of the Grange. He had a vague memory of a young lad as
well. All the rest Jules went on and on about had begun to bore him
and he said, “I think you have told me that once or twice already,
Jules.”
    “Did I? Well, gold is not the right word. It
is nearly white…no…it is the color of cornsilk. That is the color!
Cornsilk with a hint of gold threaded throughout.”
    “Cornsilk?” Edward said dubiously.
    “Yes, yes, but so much lovelier and she wears
it short. Actually, it is shorter than what I like, but I
have imagined what it would look like draping down to her
waist.”
    “How short does she wear it?” Edward was
momentarily diverted.
    “Very… to her neck and swept back, most
odd…but there is never saying what a woman will get into her head
to do,” Jules answered thoughtfully.
    Edward laughed, “You are an incurable
romantic and make me quite sick.”
    Jules nearly stood in his stirrups with
sudden excitement, “Edward! Do but look… she is there …right
there…a goddess in blue.” He waved to her and called, “Miss
Berkley—ho there!”
    Edward regarded his friend with astonishment.
He was acting like a lad not yet weaned, for mercy’s sake. As their
horses brought them closer, he surveyed the ‘goddess’ in question
and his eyebrows arched with surprise.
    She certainly did not fit the picture his
friend had painted for him in his mind. He had imagined a dainty
flower and here was a rough and tumble girl sitting on a fence. He
frowned and considered her because what struck him almost at once
was that he had never before seen any other woman quite like Star
Berkley.
    * * *
    “Oh no—oh no. Why is Jules’ friend staring at
me like that? Does he suspect? No, how could he? He never saw my
face,” Star mumbled in dismay to her stallion who immediately
snorted a retort.
    She looked herself over and chewed her bottom
lip unhappily for she was clothed in an old weathered blue gown
that had seen much better days and fit her a tad too tightly. In
addition to that, she was quite certain she smelled like the
stables for she had been helping Jeffries muck out a few stalls. Dash it, dash it, dash it!
    She liked Jules Stamford and she was feminine
enough to care about her appearance, even though she wasn’t sure
just how much she did like him.
    His open admiration and light flirtation had
her confused. She found she enjoyed dallying with him and yet,
though it was flattering, she wasn’t sure how she felt and did not
wish to lead him on.
    His wit and light conversation always set her
at ease and she enjoyed his visits, but she wished she was wearing
something a bit nicer. In addition to that, she was embarrassed and
worried all in one thought. She had to bluster it all off. and
please, she prayed, don’t let his friend look too closely at me!
Don’t let him realize I am the lad he accosted last evening. With
any good luck he probably was too bosky to remember.
    She ran her hand through her flaxen locks,
pulled out hay and brushed out dust, sure that some grime must be
liberally plastered on her countenance. This was most unfortunate.
She took the hem of her gown, and swiped it over her face in hopes
of presenting a cleaner appearance. They were getting closer.
Nothing for it, but to brave it out, for the moment had come.
    Jules Stamford was waving vigorously and she
could not pretend she hadn’t seen them. Sit on your fence and
smile, Star , she told herself.
    “Hallo,” Jules waved and called again as he
approached and then as he was nearly by her side at the fence,
“Good God! Look at Choice. Isn’t he looking fit?”
    “Indeed,” she agreed glancing at her stallion
and then back at Jules. Her eyes strayed to his companion who