ou want me to write to your
husband," he rejoined.

A sick feeling of helplessness overcame her; but she turned on him
firmly. "I pardoned you once for that threat!"

"Yes--and you sent me some money the next day."

"I was mistaken enough to think that, in your distress, you had not
realized what you wrote. But if you're a systematic blackmailer----"

"Gently--gently. Bad names don't frighten me--it's hunger and debt I'm
afraid of."

Justine felt a last tremor of compassion. He was abominable--but he was
pitiable too.

"I will really help you--I will see your wife and do what I can--but I
can give you no money today."

"Why not?"

"Because I have none. I am not as rich as you think."

He smiled incredulously. "Give me a line to Mr. Langhope, then."

"No."

He sat down once more, leaning back with a weak assumption of ease.
"Perhaps Mr. Amherst will think differently."

She whitened, but said steadily: "Mr. Amherst is away."

"Very well--I can write."

For the last five minutes Justine had foreseen this threat, and had
tried to force her mind to face dispassionately the chances it involved.
After all, why not let him write to Amherst? The very vileness of the
deed must rouse an indignation which would be all in her favour, would
inevitably dispose her husband to readier sympathy with the motive of
her act, as contrasted with the base insinuations of her slanderer. It
seemed impossible that Amherst should condemn her when his condemnation
involved the fulfilling of Wyant's calculations: a reaction of scorn
would throw him into unhesitating championship of her conduct. All this
was so clear that, had she been advising any one else, her confidence in
the course to be taken might have strengthened the feeblest will; but
with the question lying between herself and Amherst--with the vision of
those soiled hands literally laid on the spotless fabric of her
happiness, judgment wavered, foresight was obscured--she felt
tremulously unable to face the steps between exposure and vindication.
Her final conclusion was that she must, at any rate, gain time: buy off
Wyant till she had been able to tell her story in her own way, and at
her own hour, and then defy him when he returned to the assault. The
idea that whatever concession she made would be only provisional, helped
to excuse the weakness of making it, and enabled her at last, without
too painful a sense of falling below her own standards, to reply in a
low vo