read the caption, in the glaring vulgarity of extra-heavy type, and below;
Ducal Heir Offers Private Reward to Dinner Party of Friends
After an estimating look at the girl, who sat quite still with hot, blurred eyes, Miss Van Arsdale carefully read the article through.
“Here is advertising enough to satisfy the greediest appetite for print,” she remarked grimly.
“He’s on one of his brutal drunks.” The words seemed to grit in the girl’s throat. “I wish he were dead! Oh, I wish he were dead!”
Miss Van Arsdale laid hold on her shoulders and shook her hard. “Listen to me, Irene Welland. You’re on the way to hysterics or some such foolishness. I won’t have it! Do you understand? Are you listening to me?”
“I’m listening. But it won’t make any difference what you say.”
“Look at me. Don’t stare into nothingness that way. Have you read this?”
“Enough of it. It ends everything.”
“I should hope so, indeed. My dear!” The woman’s voice changed and softened. “You haven’t found that you cared for him, after all, more than you thought? It isn’t that?”