"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.