He shook her quite roughly. "It's no use groaning now," he said, "try and make amends. Have you told the girl who she is?"
"Yes, to-day, and gave her the ring. All there is to prove it."
"Is that why she left you, then?" Carstairs could hardly believe it, remembering the affection the girl had always shown for this woman whom she believed to be her mother.
"No, no, she kissed me like an angel from heaven. It's you, you who made her leave."
"Me! but she's just given me this ring, and—and she kissed me too."
The woman looked up at him again, but her eyes were now dim with tears. "You don't understand, she's very proud, prouder than that old man who's just dead. She'll come for that ring some day."
"No! By God, she won't. I'll find her, and take it to her." He pulled out a card. "Look here, that's my address. If I don't find her before I go back next week, will you send me her address, or any news of her you may have?"
"I shall be dead in a month; it's no use leaving me this."
"What's the use of talking rot like that?" he said, angrily. "Are you going to help me?"
"No," she answered simply.