"Her father? He was supposed dead some years ago."
"No, and Miss Dolores, isn't it strange that he should be that Jo Poker of whom you have heard me tell?"
"Impossible, my dear."
"No, it is quite true. I have a letter here, a letter of farewell from him. Mr. Sanders has just left it for me. Miss Dolores, did you know that Jo Poker was a friend of your aunt's when he was young, and that he knew your father?"
The señorita dropped Mary Lee's hand, turned and gazed with startled eyes at her. "You have heard more," she said. "I see it in your face. Tell me, tell me quickly."
Mary Lee threw her arms around her. "I do know more. Oh, Miss Dolores, all these months I have been trying to find out for you who your father was. We did not want to tell you of our trying, Nan and I, for fear we should fail. Mr. Pinckney has been helping us all he could, too, and now, oh, dear Miss Dolores, we have found out, and you will be so glad."
"Tell me! Tell me!"
"His name was John Pinckney."
"Pinckney? Pinckney? The same as our good friend?"
"Yes, yes, and oh, to think your father was his own son. You are dear Mr. St. Nick's granddaughter, and Mrs. Bobs is your aunt."