Mrs. Frispi shook her head impatiently.
“Mother,” murmured Stargarde appealingly, coming to stand beside her.
At this the woman submitted, and when she turned her head toward Camperdown he noticed that a softened look had overspread her features, and that tears were stealing down her cheeks.
In order to give her time to compose herself he affected to be busy with his instrument case.
A side glance presently cast in her direction showed him that the tears were still on her cheeks and also that she was not anxious to avoid his scrutiny.
“Are you going to throw her over?” she asked quietly.
Camperdown stared at her.
“Are you going to throw her over on account of me?” asked Mrs. Frispi, again indicating Stargarde by a motion of her head.
“No, I am not,” he said decidedly.
She made a sound of satisfaction in her throat and went on coolly: “She forgives me, but you will not. You would have kicked me back in the mud. She pitied me. She reminds me of the good people that I was with in New York for a little while when I was a girl. No one has cared for me since. I couldn’t help myself. Suppose she had been brought up where I was.”