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Updated: May 27, 2025
Amherst made no allusion to what had passed, asked for no details, offered no reassurances behaved as if the whole episode had been effaced from his mind. And from Wyant there came no sound: he seemed to have disappeared from life as he had from their talk. Toward the end of the week Amherst announced that he must return to Hanaford; and Justine at once declared her intention of going with him.
Wyant had a sense of stepping among explosives. He glanced about him at the dusky vaulted room, at the haunting smile of the strange picture overhead, and at the pink-and-white girl whispering of conspiracies in a voice meant to exchange platitudes with a curate. "How can I help you?" he said with a rush of compassion. "Oh, if you would!
He merely asked, without altering his insolently easy attitude: "How much? Unless it's a good deal, I prefer the letter." Oh, why could she not cry out: "Leave the house at once your vulgar threats are nothing to me" Why could she not even say in her own heart: I will tell my husband tonight? "You're afraid," said Wyant, as if answering her thought.
Of course you will want to do everything to help him; but would it not be better to wait till Mr. Langhope comes back?" "Wyant thinks the delay might make him lose the place. It seems the board meets tomorrow. And Mrs. Ansell really knows much more about it. Isn't she the secretary of the ladies' committee?" "I'm not sure I believe so. But surely Mr. Langhope should be consulted."
It was too late to draw back; and descending the last steps she found herself face to face with Wyant. They looked at each other a moment in silence; then Justine murmured a word of greeting and led the way to the drawing-room. It was a snowy afternoon, and in the raw ash-coloured light she thought he looked more changed than at the theatre.
What were the relations between Miss Lombard and her father? Above all, between Miss Lombard and her picture? She did not look like a person capable of a disinterested passion for the arts; and there had been moments when it struck Wyant that she hated the picture.
"Yes I say it can be done: tonight I say it more than ever," Wyant exclaimed, pushing the disordered hair from his forehead, and leaning toward Justine across the table on which their brief evening meal had been served. "I say the way the heart has rallied proves that we've got more strength to draw on than any of them have been willing to admit. The breathing's better too.
"You can't mean that, of the two ?" She paused and then went on doubtfully: "It's because he's cleverer?" "Dr. Wyant?" Justine smiled. "It's not making an enormous claim for him!" "Oh, I know Westy's not brilliant; but stupid men are not always the hardest to live with." She sighed again, and turned on Justine a glance charged with conjugal experience.
Facing the AEsculapius was another door, and as Wyant put his hand on the bell-rope he remembered his unknown friend's injunction, and rang twice. His ring was answered by a peasant woman with a low forehead and small close-set eyes, who, after a prolonged scrutiny of himself, his card, and his letter of introduction, left him standing in a high, cold ante-chamber floored with brick.
Elizabeth's some three years earlier, his excesses of manner had seemed to her merely the boyish tokens of a richness of nature not yet controlled by experience. Though Wyant was somewhat older than herself there had always been an element of protection in her feeling for him, and it was perhaps this element which formed the real ground of her liking.
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