“I have been wishing to see you,” she said, looking at him. “I have felt that I ought to have done so sooner—to have told you how sorry I am for your bad luck.”
He returned her glance with surprise: they were evidently the last words he had expected.
“You’re very kind,” he said in a low embarrassed voice. He had kept on his shabby over-coat, and he twirled his hat in his hands as he spoke.
“I have felt,” Justine continued, “that perhaps a talk with you might be of more use—”
He raised his head, fixing her with bright narrowed eyes. “I have felt so too: that’s my reason for coming. You sent me a generous present some weeks ago—but I don’t want to go on living on charity.”
“I understand that,” she answered. “But why have you had to do so? Won’t you tell me just what has happened ?”
She felt the words to be almost a mockery; yet she could not say “I read your history at a glance”; and she hoped that her question might draw out his wretched secret, and thus give her the chance to speak frankly.
He gave a nervous laugh. “Just what has happened? It’s a long story—and some of the details are not particularly pretty.” He broke off, moving his hat more rapidly through his trembling hands.
[ 498 ]
