with such a sensational case was not to be wondered at.
Rarely had New York been so stirred to its depth over a mysterious death. The newspapers published the most minute descriptions of the dead girl's dainty silk underwear, of her exquisitely made Directoire dress, of her Suede shoes, the silver handled La Tosca sunshade, and more particularly did they dwell on descriptions of her dainty feet and tiny hands, of her perfect features and masses of beautiful yellow hair.
There was every indication of refinement and luxury about her.
How came it, then, that a being of such beauty and grace could have no one who missed her; could have no one to search frantically the wide world for her?
The day of the inquest came.
Penelope, accompanied by her aunt and Richard, were forced to be present. Penelope
