CHAPTER XII
As Gaza de Lure entered the house in which she roomed, her landlady came hastily from the living room.
“ Is that you, Miss Burke?” she asked. “Here is a telegram that came for you just a few minutes ago. I do hope it’s not bad news!”
The girl took the yellow envelope and tore it open. She read the message through very quickly and then again slowly, her brows puckered into a little frown, as if she could not quite understand the meaning of the words she read.
“ Your mother ill,” the telegram said. “Possibly not serious—doctor thinks best you come—will meet you morning train.” It was signed “Custer Pennington.”
“ I do hope it’s not bad news,” repeated the landlady.
“ My mother is ill. They have sent for me,” said the girl. “I wonder if you would be good enough to ca
