“Yes, Glenn—­it’s I—­all you’ve left of me,” she replied, tremulously, and she sought with unsteady hands to put up her dishevelled hair.  “You—­you big sheep herder!  You Goliath!”

“I never was so knocked off my pins,” he said.  “A lady to see me—­from New York! . . .  Of course it had to be you.  But I couldn’t believe.  Carley, you were good to come.”

Somehow the soft, warm look of his dark eyes hurt her.  New and strange indeed it was to her, as were other things about him.  Why had she not come West sooner?  She disengaged herself from his hold and moved away, striving for the composure habitual with her.  Flo Hutter was standing before the fire, looking down.  Mrs. Hutter beamed upon Carley.

“Now let’s have supper,” she said.

“Reckon Miss Carley can’t eat now, after that hug Glenn gave her,” drawled Tom Hutter.  “I was some worried.  You see Glenn has gained seventy pounds in six months.  An’ he doesn’t know his strength.”

“Seventy pounds!” exclaimed Carley, gayly.  “I thought it was more.”

“Carley, you must excuse my violence,” said Glenn.  “I’ve been hugging sheep.  That is, when I shear a sheep I have to hold him.”

They all laughed, and so the moment of readjustment passed.  Presently Carley found herself sitting at table, directly across from Flo.  A pearly whiteness was slowly warming out of the girl’s face.  Her frank clear eyes met Carley’s and they had nothing to hide.  Carley’s first requisite for character in a woman was that she be a thoroughbred.  She lacked it often enough herself to admire it greatly in another woman.  And that moment saw a birth of respect and sincere liking in her for this Western girl.  If Flo Hutter ever was a rival she would be an honest one.

Not long after supper Tom Hutter winked at Carley and said he “reckoned on general principles it was his hunch to go to bed.”  Mrs. Hutter suddenly discovered tasks to perform elsewhere.  And Flo said in her cool sweet drawl, somehow audacious and tantalizing, “Shore you two will want to spoon.”

“Now, Flo, Eastern girls are no longer old-fashioned enough for that,” declared Glenn.

“Too bad!  Reckon I can’t see how love could ever be old-fashioned.  Good night, Glenn.  Good night, Carley.”

Flo stood an instant at the foot of the dark stairway where the light from the lamp fell upon her face.  It seemed sweet and earnest to Carley.  It expressed unconscious longing, but no envy.  Then she ran up the stairs to disappear.

“Glenn, is that girl in love with you?” asked Carley, bluntly.

To her amaze, Glenn laughed.  When had she heard him laugh?  It thrilled her, yet nettled her a little.

“If that isn’t like you!” he ejaculated.  “Your very first words after we are left alone!  It brings back the East, Carley.”

“Probably recall to memory will be good for you,” returned Carley.  “But tell me.  Is she in love with you?”