The announcement caused Bosworth mentally to eliminate one of the ladies from his list. He gave a deep sigh of relief at that. The daughter of the shamelessly rich Mr. Purdwell was so homely and so vain that she was almost certain to have said "yes"—with all her millions—if he had asked her. He remembered that Miss Hebbins, almost as rich and quite as eager to get into the Four Hundred, was the next on his list. She lived a few blocks farther up the street.
"All right, dad. Just push the button when we get to Purdwell's corner. I'm going beyond."
Mr. Van Pycke hesitated for a moment. "Would it be too much trouble for you to stop for me on your way down, Bosworth?"
"Not at all, dad." As an afterthought he added: "Something tells me I won't be up here long. Can you be ready at half-past ten?"
"I think so," said his father, who had some misgivings.
The taxi struggled bravely along for a couple of blocks. Bosworth was dozing comfortably. His father, seized by an unwelcome sense of compunction, was turning something over in his mind. In the end, he concluded to break a certain piece of news to his son.
"Your mother has been dead for sixteen years, Bosworth."
Bosworth opened his eyes.
"Yes, sir," he said, trying to guess what was coming.
"She was a noble woman, my boy. I—I shall never forget her."