CHAPTER VII
The Heart of the Wild Dove
The damper was closed and smoke from the newly kindled fire was pouring from every crevice of the stove, but Mrs. Blakely, absent-mindedly washing dishes in cold water, was above such small annoyances.
"Edie," her ungartered stockings slipping over the heels of her carpet slippers, muffled her footsteps as she walked across the floor and pulled aside a red calico curtain behind which her daughter was changing to her riding clothes.
"Edie, that gipsy feller told the right of it when he said a strange girl was goin' to cut you-all out."
Edith winced a little, but said nothing.
"We ain't had a sight of Ben Evans for three weeks, have we?"
Edith replied shortly:
"He's busy; they're branding at the L.X."
"Not too busy to ride his string of horses down a gittin' to Las Rubertas every time
