The man stepped back in dismay at the question, and a girlish form rushed past him and knelt at the lady’s feet.
It was Jessie Lyndon in her tattered garments, on which clung flecks of melting snow, her face drawn and pallid with misery, the tears half frozen on her cheeks, her form trembling with weariness, her beauty half obscured by her miserable plight, as strange a contrast to that palatial scene and the queenly woman before her as the mind could well imagine.
She knelt before the startled lady with upraised, pleading eyes and pathetic clasped hands, imploring:
“Oh, madam, forgive me this intrusion, but my heart is breaking! Oh, will you let me see Mr. Laurier once before he is lost to me forever!”
“Child, this is very strange!”
“Oh, madam, let me explain! I have a right to see him. We were out driving. There was such a dreadful accident! Oh, you can see for yourself how my heart is breaking!” wailed the poor girl, losing all control over her emotion, and sobbing outright.
Mrs. Dalrymple cried out in the greatest wonder:
“Why you are the little girl that was with Frank in the runaway accident yesterday, are you not? How very, very strange you look and act, poor child! You should not come here to see Mr. Laurier, you know. It is not proper to do so, and, besides——”
Jessie interrupted wildly:
“Oh, madam, do not scold me, I pray you. I am wretched enough already. Is there not a woman’s heart beating under your silks and jewels the same as under my rags? Then pity me, I implore you, and grant the boon I crave! Let me see him but once.”