“Yes.”
“Send her in,” Kite directed. And they heard the sound of moving feet.
So she had been waiting there, all this time, with Lutcher. Wint thought she must have been miserably unhappy as she waited. When he heard her step in the hall, he looked up and saw her. Her eyes met his for an instant; and Wint was curiously stirred by the pitiful appeal in them. As though she begged him to forgive.... Then her eyes left his. She came in and stood, just inside the door. Kite said:
“Sit down.” He gave her his own chair, by the table. The girl moved apathetically across the room and took the chair. Kite looked down at her.
“Now, Hetty,” he said, in the tone of one who questions a child. “I have been telling them what you told me. They think I am lying. Am I lying?”
She shook her head slowly; and Kite looked from man to man triumphantly. Routt cried:
“Hetty, you don’t understand. He said Wint was your—your baby’s father? That’s not true. It can’t be.”
She looked at Routt; and there was a somber light in her eyes. She said, in a low, steady voice:
“Yes. Sure it’s true.”
Her eyes remained on Routt. He stepped back as though she had struck him. Wint raised his head and looked around the room; saw Amos squinting at his pipe; saw B. B. ill at ease, and Skinner squirming; saw his father white and shaken in his seat. Then Routt turned to him, exclaiming: