ETHEL forgot him almost as soon as he had slammed the front door behind him.
"You think we'd better have Kincheloe arrested?" she asked Barney when she returned to the drawing-room.
"I'd like to know what he's doing now," Barney said.
"Oh; Bennet's told me. He's having his sort of a fast time. That part of Chicago's called, by people who go there, 'Little Paris.' I think it's the sort of place Kincheloe always went to by himself; he's more money to spend there now, though. I suppose he gets it from grandfather."
Barney made no comment, and they both sat down.
"It was—surprising, wasn't it?" she asked, looking at him, her mind now washed free from Bennet's interjections.
"What we got?" Barney asked. "Yes."
"Mine, of course, wasn't much, if it was anything at all. But yours—do you want to tell me what you thought about it?"
"You mean whether I believed those were the circumstances of my birth? Whether the Indian was telling me of my mother? Yes, I did, Miss Carew."
"Who could the Indian be? Noah Jo?"
"I suppose so."
