Camperdown frowned at the horrible possibilities suggested. Yet he took comfort in the sturdy character of his betrothed. “She would have been good anywhere,” he said stoutly.
“Have you lived in the slums?” said the woman with a sneer. “Could an angel be good with a thousand devils after her?”
He did not reply to her otherwise than by a shrug of his shoulders.
“And you won’t forgive me for disgracing you,” she went on in a kind of languid surprise; “and you call yourself a Christian.”
“Brian,” said Stargarde with a passion of entreaty in her voice.
“I do forgive you,” he said not unkindly, and after a short struggle with himself; “but you can’t expect me to admire you.”
“Admire me!” she exclaimed, burying her face in the pillow. “Oh, my God!”
A few minutes later he left the Pavilion and went to his home.
The next day and the next and the next Camperdown saw Mrs. Frispi, but she did not speak to him. He saw that she was becoming weaker, and also that she was in a quieter, calmer mood.
“To-night she will probably die,” he said on the evening of the third day, “and I shall take Mrs. Trotley and go to Stargarde.”