‚ÄúI forgot to ask about Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool. How is she, and where?‚Äù
Zora murmured some answer; but as she went to bed in her little white room she sat wondering sadly.
Where was the poor spoiled woman? Who was putting her to bed and smoothing the pillow? Who was caring for her, and what was she doing?
And Zora strained her eyes Northward through the night.
At this moment, Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool, rising from a gala dinner in the brilliant drawing-room of her Lake George mansion, was reading the evening paper which her husband had put into her hands. With startled eyes she caught the impudent headlines:
Senate Refuses to Confirm
Todd Insurgents Muster Enough Votes to Defeat Confirmation of President’s Nominee
Rumored Revenge for Machine’s Defeat of Child Labor Bill Amendment.
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.