"I feel such a great pity for him," she would say; "for he has never, never been the same since Dorothy disappeared so suddenly." And they would look at the girl with wistful eyes, realizing that in her case, surely, pity was akin to love.
They guessed Jessie's secret long before she knew it herself, and they felt sorry for her; for they knew her hopes were useless—that Jack could never return the girl's love.
Jack's mother and Barbara talked the matter over carefully, and concluded that it was best for the girl's peace of mind to break up this infatuation, if they could, at once.
At this epoch an event happened which turned the tide of affairs into a strange channel.
By the death of a relative Jack suddenly found himself possessed of a fortune.
He heard the startling news with a white, calm, unmoved face, while his mother and Barbara almost went wild with joy over it.
"It matters little to me now," he said. "Wealth has no charms for me." And they well knew why.
The intelligence came like a thunderbolt to Jessie Staples.
It was Mrs. Garner who told about it while the family were gathered about the tea-table.
The girl's face grew white as death, and she looked over at Jack with startled eyes.