right—good food is what I need. You think I’ve got morphia in me—why, it’s hunger!”
Justine heard him with a renewal of pity. “Oh, I’m sorry for you—very sorry! Why do you try to deceive me?”
“Why do you deceive me? You know what I want and you know you’ve got to let me have it. If you won’t give me a line to one of your friends at Saint Christopher’s you’ll have to give me another cheque—that’s the size of it.”
As they faced each other in silence Justine's pity gave way to a sudden hatred for the poor creature who stood shivering and sneering before her.
“You choose the wrong tone—and I think our talk has lasted long enough,” she said, stretching her hand to the bell.
Wyant did not move. “Don’t ring—unless you want me to write to your husband,” he rejoined.
A sick feeling of helplessness overcame her; but she turned on him firmly. “I pardoned you once for that threat!”
“Yes—and you sent me some money the next day.”
“I was mistaken enough to think that, in your distress, you had not realized what you wrote. But if you’re a systematic blackmailer"
“Gently—gently. Bad names don’t frighten me—it’s hunger and debt I’m afraid of.”
[ 503 ]
