“All gone,” the old man had said; “both my sons and their sons. No doubt the Almighty has some reason for sparing you; but it’s beyond me.”
“Your Cousin James?” said Ross, staring at her—because that had been his Cousin James.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she answered, impatiently. “I told you. Now tell me how—”
But Ross wanted to understand.
“What was your father’s name?” he demanded.
“Luis Delmano,” she replied. “But what does that matter? I only have a minute—”
“Then why do you call yourself Solway if your name is—”
“Oh!” she cried. “Now I see! You didn’t know the name of my mother’s second husband! Nobody had told you that! Of course! I should have thought of that. Mother told me how horrible her brothers were. When she married daddy, they were so furious. They said they’d never see her or speak to her or mention her name again—and I suppose they didn’t. Nasty, heartless beasts! Their only sister!”
Although Ross had never before heard of any sister of his father’s, the story seemed to him probable. His grandfather, his father, and his uncle were so exactly the sort of people to possess a sister whose name was never mentioned; grim, savage, old-fashioned, excommunicating sort of people. Yes; it was probable; but it was startling. Because, if this girl’s mother had been his father’s sister, then he was her Cousin James, after all.
He did not want to be. His dark face grew a little pale, and he turned away, looking down at the floor, considering this new and unwelcome idea.