Molly laughed quietly.
“He’ll hand out that stuff all day if you listen to Lightning,” she said. “There’s just one thing he’s crazy about. Don’t worry for your Pedro. Lightning’ll treat him like a babe. Will you come right up to the house? Food’s most ready. There’s nothing fancy. The beans are right, an’ there’s good dry hash. But it’s not too bad if you feel like eating.”
All the warmth her greeting had lacked was in Molly’s invitation. And Blanche stepped towards her, and linked an arm under the girl’s, and let her fingers clasp themselves on the forearm which the rolled sleeves left bare.
“My dear,” she cried, as they moved off together, “you don’t need to worry a thing. Food’s food. And the food that’s filled out your pretty cheeks, and built up the swell muscles of this arm, is more than good enough for a woman like me. Laundering?”
Molly nodded. A sudden feeling of interest and liking for Blanche was already stirring. The way she had of saying things was quite irresistible.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve been at the wash most all morning.”
Blanche laughed happily.
“You know, I’m crazy over a wash-day. It’s been that way always. Why, when I lived home in New York City there were times when you just couldn’t take a bath for the laundry I’d got drying in the bathroom. My brothers used to get mad, and bundle things out of the way, and hide them. There isn’t a week goes by but I have an elegant laundry.”
Molly laughed.
“Now?” she cried, eyeing the quality of the girl’s riding-suit. Then she raised her other hand and touched the fingers clasped about her arm. There were rings on them containing beautiful stones. The fingers were tapering, and carefully manicured, and she felt ashamed of the roughness of her own beside them. “With these hands?” she asked incredulously.