thought. “What’s the use of being afraid when you can make yourself comfortable so easily? You called me a systematic blackmailer—well, I’m not that yet. Give me a thousand and you’ll see the last of me—on what used to be my honour.”
Justine’s heart sank. She had reached the point of being ready to appeal again to Amherst—but on what pretext could she ask for such a sum?
In a lifeless voice she said: “I could not possibly get more than one or two hundred.”
Wyant scrutinized her a moment: her despair must have rung true to him. “Well, you must have something of your own—I saw your jewelry last night at the theatre,” he said.
So it had been he—and he had sat there appraising her value like a murderer!
“Jewelry—?” she faltered.
“You had a thumping big sapphire—wasn’t it?—with diamonds round it.”
It was her only jewel—Amherst’s marriage gift. She would have preferred a less valuable present, but his mother had persuaded her to accept it, saying that it was the bride’s duty to adorn herself for the bride-groom.
“I will give you nothing—she was about to exclaim; when suddenly her eyes fell on the clock. If
Amherst had caught the two o’clock express he would
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