"She doesn't know."
Mr. Pinckney sat up and appeared more interested. "She doesn't know? How is that?"
"Why, her mother married against her father's wishes and when Miss Dolores's father and mother died she was adopted by her aunt who gave her her own name and when she grew up wouldn't tell her who her father was. Her aunt made Mr. Garcia promise not to tell and he won't, so Miss Dolores can't find out anything. Her aunt used to be quite well off and educated Miss Dolores beautifully, but now her uncle has lost almost everything and she has no other relatives. There were only the two sisters, her aunt and her mother. One was named Dolores and the other Elvira."
"Elvira?" Mr Pinckney spoke the name slowly and thoughtfully.
"Yes, it isn't as pretty a name as Dolores, do you think?"
He did not answer, but sat with his head thrown back puffing at his cigar and watching the smoke drift off among the vines.
Mary Lee took up the tale. "We think, or at least Nan says, that probably her father was a convict or something, or maybe just a gambler, and that her mother's family were ashamed of him."
Mr. Pinckney roused himself. "Very likely, very likely. That would explain it of course."
"Still maybe he wasn't, and if he was maybe his family are good people and would be nice to her. She is so lovely anybody ought to be proud as a peacock to have her kin to the family. Now don't you think we could find out without her knowing? Then if they turned out to be no 'count people she need never know."
"We thought," put in Nan eagerly, "as you are traveling about 'hether and yen' as Landy says, you might come across some sort of—of—what do you call it?—clue, without going out of your way."