"She told you?"
"Yes."
"Of—of the Indian mother?"
"I knew," said Philip. "Carl told me. I withheld it this morning purposely. Why fuss about it, Diane? Lord Almighty!" added this exceedingly practical and democratic young man, "I shouldn't worry myself if my grandfather was a salamander! … And, besides, your true Indian is an awfully good sport. He's proud and fearless and inherently truthful—"
"I know," said Diane. "It isn't that I mind—so much. It—it's the other."
"Of course!" said Philip gently, "but, somehow, I can't believe it's true, Diane. There's logic against it. Why, Great Scott!" he added cheerfully, for all there was a lump in his throat at the wistful tragedy in the girl's eyes, "there's Theodomir's own statement in the candlestick—have you forgotten?"
"It spoke of—of marriage?"
"It said that Theodomir had gone into the Glades hunting and had come upon the Indian village. There he met and married your mother and later divorced her."
"If I could only be sure!" faltered Diane.
"You can," said Philip, "for I am going back to the Glades to-morrow to hunt this thing to earth. The old chief will know."