Frithiof replied in the affirmative, and offered to look for the great baritone’s carriage, imagining that this must be the reason he had addressed him.
“Oh, as, to the carriage!” said Donati easily, “it will be waiting at the corner of Sackville Street. But I wanted a few minutes’ talk with you, and first of all to apologize for having been the unwilling hearer of that accusation, which I am quite sure is false.”
Frithiof’s clouded face instantly cleared; all the old brightness returned for a moment to his frank blue eyes, and forgetful of the fact that he was not in Norway, and that Donati was the idolized public singer, he grasped the hand of the Italian with that fervent, spontaneous gratitude which is so much more eloquent than words.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
“Well, now, is it possible for an outsider to help in unraveling the mystery?” said Donati. “For when a man like you is accused in this way I take it for granted there must be a mystery.”
“No one can possibly explain it,” said Frithiof, the troubled look returning to his face. “I can’t tell in the least how the thing happened, but appearances were altogether against me. It is the most extraordinary affair, but God knows I had no hand in it.”
“I want to hear all about it,” said Donati with that eagerness of manner and warmth of interest which made him so devotedly loved by thousands. “I am leaving England to-morrow; can’t you come back and have supper with me now, and let me hear this just as it all happened?”
Even if he had wished to refuse, Frithiof could hardly have done so; and, as it was, he was so miserable that he would have caught at much less hearty sympathy. They walked along the crowded pavement toward Sackville Street, and had almost reached the carriage when a conversation immediately behind them became distinctly audible.
“They make such a fuss over this Donati,” said the speaker. “But I happen to know that he’s a most disreputable character. I was hearing all about him the other day from some one who used to know him intimately. They say, you know, that—”
Here the conversation died away in the distance, and what that curse of modern society—the almighty “They”—said as to Donati’s private affairs remained unknown to him.