Justine felt a last tremor of compassion. He was abominable—but he was pitiable too.
“I will really help you—I will see your wife and do what I can—but I can give you no money today.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have none. I am not as rich as you think.”
He smiled incredulously. “Give me a line to Mr. Langhope, then ”
“No.”
He sat down once more, leaning back with a weak assumption of ease. “Perhaps Mr. Amherst will think differently.”
She whitened, but said steadily: “Mr. Amherst is away.”
“Very well—I can write.”
For the last five minutes Justine had foreseen this threat, and had tried to force her mind to face dispassionately the chances it involved. After all, why not let him write to Amherst? The very vileness of the deed must rouse an indignation which would be all in her favour, would inevitably dispose her husband to readier sympathy with the motive of her act, as contrasted with the base insinuations of her slanderer. It seemed impossible that Amherst should condemn her when his condemnation involved the fulfilling of
Wyant’s calculations: a reaction of scorn would throw
[ 504 ]
