The news was not so very surprising to Malcolm Petrie. In his years of practice as a solicitor many similar cases had come to his notice. He had often remonstrated at the folly of sending the younger son of a great family to these lands, and at the unwisdom of parents who found the problem of guiding a wayward boy too hard, and so let him go to the West, to be left to the mercy of its desolation and to the temptation of such entanglements. But that it would be a new difficulty he foresaw, and as he took the child’s out-stretched hand he remembered the proud woman waiting at Fort Duchesne. To him, as a man of the world, the affair was understandable, but to Diana! He began to regret that she had come. There was no suggestion of these thoughts in his manner as he kindly said: "How do you do, my little man?" "How do you do, Mr. Petrie?" the child answered, and then ran back to his father’s side. The dark head with its faint trace of the Indian blood was extremely beautiful, but Malcolm Petrie noticed a much stronger predominance of the Wynnegate features. With his hand on the child’s head, Jim said, "You see, Petrie, we have to-day and to-morrow—but never yesterday." In the man’s voice was so much despair that Petrie found it impossible to understand it. "I don’t quite follow you," he said. Turning in the direction in which the Indian girl had disappeared, Jim answered, "That was Hal’s mother." "Indeed!" And still Petrie was puzzled at Jim’s attitude. "There isn’t any place in England for Nat-u-ritch." Then, as Jim bent over the boy, he held him close and said, "Kiss me, dear, and now run in and help your mother." Jim followed the boy to the cabin door. Malcolm Petrie said, tentatively, "And that Indian squaw—woman, I mean—is your—" But Jim stopped the word that he felt Petrie was about to speak. "My wife," he said. Petrie dropped his glasses and turned sharply to Jim. "My wife," Jim said again. "You don’t suppose I’d let my boy come into the world branded with illegitimacy, do you?" To this Petrie gave no answer. Under Jim almost defiant gaze he found it impossible to argue, but there must be a solution to this problem. He moved away as he almost lightly said, "An awkward situation, Mr. Carston—quite an awkward situation," but the words conveyed no idea that he felt there was a finality about the matter. His lawyer’s brain would unravel the knot. Jim could still have his freedom. Then he said, "But these matters can be arranged. You will be in a position to settle an income on her which will make her comfortable for life, and some good man will eventually marry her." Jim almost smiled. There was so much of the conventional standard in Petrie’s speech. "Wait a bit. You don’t understand." He motioned Petrie to be seated again. He hesitated, then determined to tell his story. It might as well be done now; it would save further discussion.