"You are not surprised when I talk to you of my son, and you have been here only two days."
Peter's mother stood like marble. The girl saw she was open to be read. Her pride was broken.
"Do not send me away," she pleaded. "I must know whether he lives or dies."
"What right have you to know?"
The girl was silent, and Mrs. Paragon shivered. She hardly dared be made sure.
"Has my son belonged to you?"
"No."
The girl hated to confess it, but quickly used it as a plea:
"Now will you let me stay?" she entreated.
Mrs. Paragon turned coldly away.