"
"Yes?" she questioned, watching me anxiously, "you think so? I think
so, too."
She became silent, sitting looking straight before her, the pupils of
her blue eyes widely dilated. Then, at first in a queer, far-away
voice, she began to speak again.
"I must tell you," she commenced "that before--my marriage, my name
was Isabella de Valera."
I started.
"Ysola was my baby way of saying it, and so I came to be called Ysola.
My father was manager of one of Senor Don Juan's estates, in a small
island near the coast of Cuba. My mother"--she raised her little hands
eloquently--"was half-caste. Do you know? And she and my father--"
She looked pleadingly at Val Beverley.
"I understand," whispered the latter with deep sympathy; "but you don't
think it makes any difference, do you?"
"No?" said Mrs. Camber with a quaint little gesture. "To you, perhaps
not, but there, where I was born, oh! so much. Well, then, my mother
died when I was very little. Ah Tsong was her servant. There are many
Chinese in the West Indies, you see, and I can just remember he carried
me in to see her. Of course I didn't understand.
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