Since leaving Kusiak nearly two weeks before, no word had reached Gordon of Sheba. As soon as he had finished dinner at the hotel, he walked out to the Paget house and sent in his card.
Sheba came into the hall to meet him from the living-room where she had been sitting with the man she expected to marry next week. She gave a little murmur of pleasure at sight of him and held out both hands.
"I was afraid you weren't going to get back in time. I'm so glad," she told him warmly.
He managed to achieve a smile. "When is the great day?"
"Next Thursday. Of course, we're as busy as can be, but Diane says—"
A ring at the door interrupted her. Sheba stepped forward and let in an Indian woman with a little boy clinging to her hand.
"You Miss O'Neill?" she asked.
"Yes."
From the folds of her shawl she drew a letter. The girl glanced at the address, then opened and read what was written. She looked up, puzzled, first at the comely, flatfooted Indian woman and afterward at the handsome little brown-faced papoose. She turned to Gordon.
"This letter says I am to ask this woman who is the father of her boy. What does it mean?"