“A woman who is dying?” repeated ’Tana, in wonder. “And why do you come to me?”
“She wants to see you. I think—to tell you something.”
“But who is it?” asked Lyster. “Some beggar?”
“She is a beggar now at least,” agreed Mr. Harvey—“a poor woman dying. She said only to tell Miss Rivers, and here is a line she sent.”
He gave her a slip of paper, and on it was written:
“Come and take some word to Dan Overton for me. I am dying.
Overton’s wife.”
She arose, and Margaret exclaimed at the whiteness of her face.
“Oh, my dear,” sighed Miss Seldon, “you know how I warned you not to give your charities individually among the beggars of a city. It is really a mistake. They have no consideration, and will send for you at all hours if you will go. It is so much better to distribute charity through some organization.”
But ’Tana was tying her opera cloak, and moving toward the entrance.