Hathaway moved uneasily under the direct gaze of his daughter. "I haven't the least idea," he finally answered. "I can't keep track of everyone on the ranch." The girl's face turned pale under her tan. She rose from the table and stood tall and straight behind her chair, her clear eyes direct upon her father. "Why don't you tell her," she cried with passion. Then the usual calm settled over her face. She turned to her mother. "I may as well tell you that we had a little scene this morning, Sydney and I. He proposed to me." She hesitated an instant, turned and caught her father's nervous, anxious look direct. He was watching her uneasily. She continued deliberately: "I refused him--and sent him away from the ranch. You may as well know all about it." "_You_ sent him away from the ranch," gasped Mrs. Hathaway. "Yes," answered the girl quietly. It was her first lie. "You _dared_ send him away--away from his own home!" almost screamed Mrs. Hathaway, her rage increasing with every word. "_You dared!_ _You_, my own daughter--ungrateful, inconsiderate----You _know_ how I love that boy, my poor Jennie's son! What business had you sending him away, or even refusing him, I'd like to know! What if he is your cousin--your second cousin? Oh, you have no consideration for me, _none_--you never had! How can I ever endure it here on this ranch three whole months without Sydney! It was bad enough before!" She wrung her hands and rose sobbing from the table. "James, do go after that poor boy. Say that I am willing he should marry Hope if he is so foolish as to want her. Tell him not to mind anything she says, but that he _must_ come home. You will go at once, won't you?" She placed both hands imploringly on his arm. "Yes, I'll go after him to-morrow, so stop your worrying," he answered soothingly. "Hope, fetch your mother a glass of wine, don't you see she's all upset?" The girl brought the wine and handed it to her father, but his eyes shifted uneasily from her clear, steady ones. He led his unhappy wife from the room, leaving Hope alone with the empty wine glass in her hand. She stood so for a moment, then walked to the table and set the tiny glass down, but, oddly, raised it up again and looked at it closely. "As empty as my life is now," she thought. "As empty as this home is for me. I have no one--father, mother--no one." A queer look crossed her face; determination settled over her, as with a sudden, vehement motion she shattered the frail glass upon the floor. A single thought, and a new life had opened before her. CHAPTER II