Blanche experienced a further feeling of contrition. But she smiled and shook her head.
“Say,” she cried, “if I lived around this farm I shouldn’t have such scruples. I’d be scared to death of strange faces. I certainly should. Do you know, Molly, I should always have a gun tucked somewhere handy in my skirts. And when a strange face got peeking around I should ‘draw’ quick. It would be ‘Name!’ right away. ‘Where from?’ and ‘Why?’ Now, if you’d acted that way to me I should have told you my piece like answers to a catechism. I’d have told you I was stopping around on a visit to friends the other side of Hartspool. That I was on a holiday trip from New York, my home city, and a place I get sick to death of, and am ready to quit most any time. I should have said I had all the things a woman mostly needs except a husband, and that these hills are so fascinating I don’t even worry about that. That I’ve been riding around gawking like a personally conducted tour, and didn’t guess how far I’d come till I got yearning for dry hash and those beans you’re fixing for us. Doesn’t it all sound dreadful? I just can’t keep my thoughts from food. But there it is, and I guess it’s mostly human.”
Molly joined in the laugh with which Blanche finished up, while her eyes twinkled slily.
“I knew you weren’t married,” she said.
Blanche noted the prim pursing of her lips.
“How did you know that?” she humoured her.
Molly set her dishes on the immaculate table, and glanced over it to see that everything had been provided for.
“Guess ther’ isn’t a wedding-ring on your left hand,” she smiled triumphantly. “Only beautiful, beautiful diamonds.”
“Well, say! Did you guess anything else?”
Molly set the chairs ready, and stood grasping the back of one of them. Just for a moment there was hesitation.