had dismissed Wyant with scorn and horror—did not that show that he was on her side already? And how many more arguments she had at her call! Her brain hummed with them as she followed him up the stairs.
In her bedroom he closed the door and stood motionless, the same heavy half-paralyzed look on his face. It frightened her and she went up to him.
“John!” she said timidly.
He put his hand to his head. “Wait a moment” he returned; and she waited, her heart slowly sinking again.
The moment over, he seemed to recover his power of movement. He crossed the room and threw himself into the armchair near the hearth.
“Now tell me everything.”
He sat thrown back, his eyes fixed on the fire, and the vertical lines between his brows forming a deep scar in his white face.
Justine moved nearer, and touched his arm beseechingly. “Won’t you look at me?”
He turned his head slowly, as if with an effort, and his eyes rested reluctantly on hers.
“Oh, not like that!” she exclaimed.
He seemed to make a stronger effort at self-control. “Please don’t heed me—but say what there is to say,” he said in a level voice, his gaze on the fire.
[ 517 ]
