that his
clothes were worn and untidy, his gloveless hands soiled and tremulous.
None of the degrading signs of his infirmity were lacking; and she saw
at once that, while in the early days of the habit he had probably mixed
his drugs, so that the conflicting symptoms neutralized each other, he
had now sunk into open morphia-taking. She felt profoundly sorry for
him; yet as he followed her into the room physical repulsion again
mastered the sense of pity.

But where action was possible she was always self-controlled, and she
turned to him quietly as they seated themselves.

"I have been wishing to see you," she said, looking at him. "I have felt
that I ought to have done so sooner--to have told you how sorry I am for
your bad luck."

He returned her glance with surprise: they were evidently the last words
he had expected.

"You're very kind," he said in a low embarrassed voice. He had kept on
his shabby over-coat, and he twirled his hat in his hands as he spoke.

"I have felt," Justine continued, "that perhaps a talk with you might be
of more use----"

He raised his head, fixing her with bright narrowed eyes. "I have felt
so too: that's my reason for coming. You sent me a generous present some
weeks ago--but I don't want to go on living on charity."

"I understand that," she answered. "But why have you had to do so? Won't
you tell me just what has happened?"

She felt the words to be almost a mockery; yet she could not say "I read
your history at a glance"; and she hoped that her question might draw
out his wretched secret, and thus give her the chance to speak frankly.

He gave a nervous laugh. "Just what has happened? It's a long story--and
some of the details are not particularly pretty." He broke off, moving
his hat more rapidly through his trembling hands.

"Never mind: tell me."

"Well--after you all left Lynbrook I had rather a bad break-down--the
strain of Mrs. Amherst's case, I suppose. You remember Bramble, the
Clifton grocer? Miss Bramble nursed me--I daresay you remember her too.
When I recovered I married her--and after that things didn't go well."

He paused, breathing quickly, and looking about the room with odd,
furtive glances. "I was only half-well, anyhow--I couldn't attend to my
patients properly--and after a few months we decided to leave Clifton,
and I bought a practice in New Jersey. But my wife was ill there, and
things went wrong again--damnably. I suppose you've guessed that my
m