“Keep on!  Keep on!” cried Lilienfeld.  But the girl stepped to the edge of the stage.

“What’s the matter?” she inquired.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” the director assured her, all impatience.

Ingigerd called for Doctor von Kammacher.  Frederick, who was reminded of his father by the old gentleman and had been looking at him with respect, was not a little startled when he heard his name echo through the theatre.  It was fearfully painful and humiliating to him to have to step up to the platform and speak to Ingigerd.  She bent down and told him to go “sound that old guy from the Society and try to bring him around.”

“If I am not allowed to dance, I will jump from Brooklyn Bridge, and you can go fishing for me where my father is,” she cried.

Amid convulsive jerkings of her body, throttled by the spider’s threads, Ingigerd ended what was apparently her life, though in reality nothing but her dance.  Lilienfeld introduced Frederick to Mr. Garry.  The stiff old descendant of the Pilgrim Fathers, who had come over in the Mayflower and founded the New England States, measured Frederick with a cold, penetrating glance of his steely grey eyes, a glance hostile as a cat’s and as capable, it seemed to Frederick, as a cat’s to see in utter darkness.  Mr. Garry spoke very quietly, but what he said scarcely aroused hopes that his attitude would be tolerant.

“Evidently,” he said after Lilienfeld had got done with an eager harangue, “evidently, the girl’s father has already misused her for low purposes, and evidently, the child’s education has been neglected.  The creature is to be pitied for not having been taught even the commonest notions of feminine shame and decency.  Unfortunately,” he added in a cold, haughty manner, which in advance robbed any statements in controversion of their force, “unfortunately we have as yet no law to prevent such revolting performances, which grossly offend public sentiment and morality.”  He scarcely seemed to comprehend Lilienfeld’s arguments, assuming without question that Lilienfeld must know how vile he and his profession were in the eyes of every gentleman and that Lilienfeld in his, Mr. Garry’s, eyes was entitled to but one epithet, “vermin.”

His inadequate English prevented Frederick from taking an important part in the conversation.  Nevertheless, he ventured to mention the necessity under which Ingigerd was of earning her own living.  Mr. Garry instantly silenced him with the old question: 

“Are you the girl’s brother?”

Mr. Garry left the room, and Lilienfeld cursed and stormed against the miserable hypocrisy of those old-fashioned Yankees and Puritans.

“I have my strong suspicions,” he said, “that an injunction will be issued preventing Ingigerd Hahlstroem from appearing in public.  I owe the whole cursed business to Webster and Forster.”

When Frederick went to fetch Ingigerd in the dressing-room, he found her in tears.