The paper trembled in her jewelled hands. She glanced down the column.
“Todd asks: Who is Vanderpool, anyhow? What did he ever do? He is known only as a selfish millionaire who thinks more of horses than of men.”
Carelessly Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool threw the paper to the floor and bit her lips as the angry blood dyed her face.
“They shall confirm him,” she whispered, “if I have to mortgage my immortal soul!” And she rang up long distance on the telephone.