Wyant laughed. “Needed by whom? By John Amherst?”
A moment passed before Justine took in the full significance of the retort; then the blood rushed to her face. “Yes—I believe both Mr. and Mrs. Amherst need me,” she answered, keeping her eyes on his; and Wyant laughed again.
“You didn’t think so till Amherst came back from Hanaford. His return seems to have changed your plans in several respects.”
She looked away from him, for even now his eyes moved her to pity and self-reproach. “Dr. Wyant, you are not well; why do you wait to see Mrs. Amherst?” she said.
He stared at her and then his glance fell. “I’m much obliged—I’m as well as usual,” he muttered, pushing the hair from his forehead with a shaking hand; and at that moment the sound of Bessy’s voice gave Justine a pretext for escape.
In her own room she sank for a moment under a rush of self-disgust; but it soon receded before the saner forces of her nature, leaving only a residue of pity for the poor creature whose secret she had surprised. She had never before suspected Wyant of taking a drug, nor did she now suppose that he did so habitually; but to see him even momentarily under
such an influence explained her instinctive sense of his
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