Page:The Fruit of the Tree (Wharton 1907).djvu/392

Rh conscious of the risk she was taking, but thinking the words might act like a blow in the face of a person sinking under a deadly narcotic.

Bessy’s smile deepened to a sneer. “I see you’ve talked me over thoroughly—and on his views I ought perhaps not to have risked an opinion”

“We have not talked you over,” Justine exclaimed. “Mr. Amherst could never talk of you … in the way you think.… And under the light staccato of Bessy’s laugh she found resolution to add: “It is not in that way that I know what he feels.”

“Ah? I should be curious to hear, then”

Justine turned to the letter, which still lay between them. “Will you read the last sentence again? The postscript, I mean.”

Bessy, after a surprised glance at her, took the letter up with the deprecating murmur of one who acts under compulsion rather than dispute about a trifle.

“The postscript? Let me see.… ‘Don’t let my wife ride Impulse.’— Et puis?” she murmured, dropping the page again.

“Well, does it tell you nothing? It’s a cold letter—at ﬁrst I thought so—the letter of a man who believes himself deeply hurt—so deeply that he will make no advance, no sign of relenting. That’s what I thought when I ﬁrst read it … but the postscript undoes it all.” [ 376 ]