Justine’s thoughts had flown beyond the stage of resenting Mrs. Ansell’s gentle pertinacity. All her faculties were absorbed in the question as to how she could most effectually use whatever influence she possessed.
“I put it to you as one old friend to another—will you write to Mr. Amherst to come back?” Mrs. Ansell urged her.
Justine was past considering even the strangeness of this request, and its oblique reflection on the kind of power ascribed to her. Through the confused beatings of her heart she merely struggled for a clearer sense of guidance.
“No,” she said slowly. “I cannot.”
“You cannot? With a friend’s happiness in extremity?” Mrs. Ansell paused a moment before she added. “Unless you believe that Bessy would be happier divorced?”
“Divorced—? Oh, no,” Justine shuddered.
“That is what it will come to.”
“No, no! In time”
“Time is what I am most afraid of, when Blanche Carbury disposes of it.”
Justine breathed a deep sigh.
“You’ll write?” Mrs. Ansell murmured, laying a soft touch on her hand.
“I have not the influence you think"
“Can you do any harm by trying?”
[ 362 ]
