Gillian had bounded on before with a handful of sandwiches, but Dolores tarried behind, having let the General help her to the leg of a chicken, which she seemed in no haste to dissect.  Her uncle went off on some other call before she had finished, eating and drinking with the bitter sauce of reflection on the fleeting nature of young men’s attentions and even confidences, and how easily everything was overthrown at sight of a pretty face, especially in the half-and-half class.  She had only just come out into the verandah, wearily to return to the preparations, which had lost whatever taste they had for her, when she saw Gerald Underwood springing over the partition wall.  Her impulse was to escape him, but it was too late; he came eagerly up to her, saying—-

“She is safe with Mrs. Henderson.  I am to go back for her when our duet comes on.”

Dolores did not want to lower herself by showing jealousy or offence, but she could not help turning decidedly away, saying—-

“I am wanted.”

“Are you?  I wanted to tell you why I am so interested in her.  Dolores, can you hear me now?—-she is my sister.”

“Your sister!” in utter amaze.

“Every one says they see it in the colour of our eyes.”

“Every one"-—she seemed able to do nothing but repeat his words.

“Well, my uncle Lancelot, and—-and my mother.  No one else knows yet.  They want to spare my aunt till this concern is over.”

“But how can it be?”

“It is a horrid business altogether!” he said, taking her down to the unfrequented parts of the lower end of the garden, where they could walk up and down hidden by the bushes and shrubs.  “You knew that my father was an artist and musician, who fled from over patronage.”

“I think I have heard so.”

“He married a singing-woman, and she grew tired of him, and of me, deserted and divorced him in Chicago, when I was ten months old.  He was the dearest, most devoted of fathers, till he and I were devoured by the Indians.  If they had completed their operations on my scalp, it would have been all the better for me.  Instead of which Travis picked me up, brought me home, and they made me as much of an heir of all the traditions as nature would permit, all ignoring that not only was my father Bohemian ingrain, but that my mother was—-in short-—one of the gipsies of civilization.  They never expected to hear of her again, but behold, the rapturous discovery has taken place.  She recognised Lance, the only one of the family she had ever seen before, and then the voice of blood-—more truly the voice of £ s. d.- —exerted itself.”

“How was it she did not find you out before?”

“My father seems to have concealed his full name; I remember his being called Tom Wood.  She married in her own line after casting him off, and this pretty little thing is her child—-the only tolerable part of it.”

“But she cannot have any claim on you,” said Dolores, with a more shocked look and tone than the words conveyed.