Justine, as she spoke, had drawn near Bessy, laying a hand on her arm, and shedding on her the radiance of a face all charity and sweet compassion. It was her rare gift, at such moments, to forget her own relation to the person for whose fate she was concerned, to cast aside all consciousness of criticism and distrust in the heart she strove to reach, as pitiful people forget their physical timidity in the attempt to help a wounded animal.
For a moment Bessy seemed to waver. The colour flickered faintly up her cheek, her long lashes drooped—she had the tenderest lids !—and all her face seemed melting under the beams of Justine’s ardour. But the letter was still in her hand—her eyes, in sinking, fell upon it, and she sounded beneath her breath the fatal phrase: “ ‘I have done this solely because you asked it.’"
“After such a tribute to your influence I don’t wonder you feel competent to set everybody’s affairs in order! But take my advice, my dear—don’t ask me not to ride Impulse!”
The pity froze on Justine’s lip: she shrank back cut to the quick. For a moment the silence between the two women rang with the flight of arrowy, wounding thoughts; then Bessy’s anger flagged, she gave one of her embarrassed half-laughs, and turning back, laid a deprecating touch on her friend’s arm.
[ 377 ]
