trouble coming on you long ago--and if there
is any other way in which I can help you----"

"Thanks," he returned, still sneering. "Your sympathy is very
precious--there was a time when I would have given my soul for it. But
that's over, and I'm here to talk business. You say you saw my trouble
coming on--did it ever occur to you that you were the cause of it?"

Justine glanced at him with frank contempt. "No--for I was not," she
replied.

"That's an easy way out of it. But you took everything from me--first my
hope of marrying you; then my chance of a big success in my career; and
I was desperate--weak, if you like--and tried to deaden my feelings in
order to keep up my pluck."

Justine rose to her feet with a movement of impatience. "Every word you
say proves how unfit you are to assume any responsibility--to do
anything but try to recover your health. If I can help you to that, I am
still willing to do so."

Wyant rose also, moving a step nearer. "Well, get me that place,
then--I'll see to the rest: I'll keep straight."

"No--it's impossible."

"You won't?"

"I can't," she repeated firmly.

"And you expect to put me off with that answer?"

She hesitated. "Yes--if there's no other help you'll accept."

He laughed again--his feeble sneering laugh was disgusting. "Oh, I don't
say that. I'd like to earn my living honestly--funny preference--but if
you cut me off from that, I suppose it's only fair to let you make up
for it. My wife and child have got to live."

"You choose a strange way of helping them; but I will do what I can if
you will go for a while to some institution----"

He broke in furiously. "Institution be damned! You can't shuffle me out
of the way like that. I'm all right--good food is what I need. You
think I've got morphia in me--why, it's hunger!"

Justine heard him with a renewal of pity. "Oh, I'm sorry for you--very
sorry! Why do you try to deceive me?"

"Why do you deceive _me_? You know what I want and you know you've got
to let me have it. If you won't give me a line to one of your friends at
Saint Christopher's you'll have to give me another cheque--that's the
size of it."

As they faced each other in silence Justine's pity gave way to a sudden
hatred for the poor creature who stood shivering and sneering before
her.

"You choose the wrong tone--and I think our talk has lasted long
enough," she said, stretching her hand to the bell.

Wyant did not move. "Don't ring--unless y