Justin's pale face grew red. "I should have considered it an honour to call, but there are certain reasons why I preferred seeing you here. Will you sit down?"
"Thanks, I had rather stand. I am in a hurry,—is your head better?"
"Yes, thank you."
"A great mistake to jump into the river for that beggar's child. Better to have let it drown."
"I scarcely think you would have approved of that,"—then he surveyed her earnestly. "What I have to say may take some time. You had better be seated."
She dropped into a chair, and, folding her hands before her on the table, stared out the window.
She did not like him. She was annoyed at being compelled to sit and listen to him, yet Justin was full of satisfaction, and there was even an expression of wistfulness about his thin lips as his next sentence fell from them.
"In the first place, I have to thank you for your kindness to my wife the other day."
"No kindness at all," she said, gruffly. "She can come again sometime, if she likes. I dare say it is dull at your house for her."
"Dull, yes,—poor child. Miss Gastonguay, I see you are impatient to be gone, and I will be brief. Long ago you had a brother—"