She felt Amherst’s eyes on her again; and she said desperately, addressing him: “Dr. Wyant understands my reasons.”
Her husband’s glance turned abruptly to Wyant. “Do you?” he asked after a pause.
Wyant looked from one to the other. The moisture came out on his forehead, and he passed his hand over it again. “Yes,” he said in a dry voice. “Mrs. Amherst wants me farther off—out of New York.”
“Out of New York? What do you mean?”
Justine interposed hastily, before the answer could come. “It is because Dr. Wyant is not in condition—for such a place—just at present.”
“But he assures me he is quite well.”
There was another silence; and again Wyant broke in, this time with a slight laugh. “I can explain what Mrs. Amherst means; she intends to accuse me of the morphine habit. And I can explain her reason for doing so—she wants me out of the way.”
Amherst turned on the speaker; and, as she had foreseen, his look was terrible. “You haven’t explained that yet,” he said.
“Well—I can.” Wyant waited another moment. “I know too much about her,” he declared.
There was a low exclamation from Justine, and Amherst strode toward Wyant. “You infernal blackguard!” he cried.
[ 512 ]
