She would know a lot, that woman." He paused, seemed about to speak, hesitated, then after a moment hastily said: "A minute ago you spoke of having the instinct of your race, or something like that.

What is your race?
Is it Irish, or--do you mind my asking?
Your English is perfect, but there is something--something--" She turned away her head, a flush spreading over her face.

She was unprepared for the question.

No one had ever asked it directly of her since they had come to Manitou.

Whatever speculation there had been, she had never been obliged to tell any one of what race she was.