“All right so far,” she said to herself. “Concern me!” she repeated fiercely. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought.
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