Prudence bent over her work to hide the tell-tale flush which had spread over her face, and the skimming was once more done with the utmost care.
“Mother is very fond of Mr. Iredale,” she replied slowly. “He is a good man, and a good friend. We, as you know, are his nearest neighbours. Are you going over there to-day?”
“I think so. Why?”
“Oh––it doesn’t matter––I was going to ask you to ride over to Lakeville to ask Alice Gordon to come here during the harvesting. She’s staying with the Covills. But it doesn’t matter in the least, I can send one of the boys.”
“Yes, better send one of the boys. I’m going over to Lonely Ranch. I shall cultivate Iredale; he’s the only man I care about round here.”
Prudence had nearly completed her operations and was salting the cream in the pail.
“Say, sis, did it ever strike you that Iredale’s dead sweet on you?” Hervey went on coarsely.
The girl suddenly turned and looked her brother squarely in the face. Her brow was again flushed, but now with anger.
“You’ll lose the best of your shooting if you don’t 143 hurry. You’ve got ten miles to ride. And––I am going to lock up.”
Her brother didn’t offer to move.