But presently she found herself quite mistaken, for her eyes lighted on a paragraph of vital importance to herself.
It ran briefly:
“Mrs. Verna Dalrymple, of No. 1512A Fifth Avenue, continues very ill with no prospects of recovery. Indeed, her death is hourly expected. The Four Hundred will thus lose one of its brightest ornaments, and the poor of the city one of their most charitable benefactors. It is a source of regret that so brilliant and beneficent a life should be thus untimely cut down in the prime of beauty and intellect.”
A cruel pain like a sharp thorn pierced Jessie’s heart as she clutched the newspaper in her rigid hands, staring at the fatal paragraph with dilated eyes.
She could not stay away from her mother as she had planned. She must go to her at once and receive her dying blessing.
Stifling back a choking sob, she rose to her feet, exclaiming eagerly:
“Mrs. Doyle, I have just read in this paper of the serious illness of a very dear friend of mine on Fifth Avenue. If I could get a cab I would go to her at once.”
“There is a cab stand on the next block. I’ll get you one at once.”
“Thank you—God bless you!” Jessie sobbed, and while the good woman was gone she slipped on her hat and jacket and stood impatiently waiting, her heart sinking with fear lest her mother should be dead ere she reached her side.
The cab arrived speedily, and Mrs. Doyle asked hospitably: