"Rather a cool greeting from a girl one expects to marry," said Carter, under his breath.
"Is it possible—your fiancée!" Livingston's face became thoughtful. "You are to be congratulated," he said.
Carter laughed nervously. "I can scarcely say she is that, yet—but it is her mother's wish. We have grown up together. Miss Hathaway is my cousin, my second cousin. I can see no reason why we will not be married—some time."
"Miss Hathaway," mused his companion. "And you love her?" he asked quietly.
"Certainly," answered Carter, wondering at the other's abrupt way of speaking.
"And may I ask if she loves you?" The sheep-man's tone was quiet and friendly. Carter wished that it might have been insolent. As it was he could only laugh uneasily.
"It would seem not," he answered. "To-day she is like an icicle—to-morrow she will be a most devoted girl. That is Hope—as changeable as the wind. One never knows what to expect. One day loving—the next, cold and indifferent. But then, you see, I am used to her little ways."
"I wish you all the happiness you deserve, Mr. Carter," said Livingston a little later, as he rode off, taking a short cut to his ranch.
"Hope—Hope Hathaway; Carter's cousin. What an idiot I've been to think of her as an Indian girl! An odd name—Hope. Hope Hath a way," he mused as he rode homeward. "If only I had the right to hope!"