business; but, since he did not mean to return, some farther explanation was now necessary, and he was paralyzed by the difficulty of writing. He had already telegraphed to his friend that he would be at the mills the next day; but the southern express did not leave till the afternoon, and he still had several hours in which to consider what he should say to his wife. To postpone the dreaded task, he invented the pretext of some business to be despatched, and taking the Subway to Wall Street consumed the morning in futile activities. But since the renunciation of his work at Westmore he had no active concern with the financial world, and by twelve o’clock he had exhausted his imaginary affairs and was journeying up town again. He left the train at Union Square, and walked along Fourth Avenue, now definitely resolved to go back to the hotel and write his letter before lunching.
At Twenty-sixth Street he had struck into Madison Avenue, and was striding onward with the fixed eye and aimless haste of the man who has empty hours to fill, when a hansom drew up ahead of him and Justine Brent sprang out. She was trimly dressed, as if for travel, with a small bag in her hand; but at sight of him she paused with a cry of pleasure.
“Oh, Mr. Amherst, I’m so glad! I was afraid I might not see you for goodbye.”
“For goodbye?” Amherst paused, embarrassed. How had she guessed that he did not mean to return to Lynbrook?
“You know,” she reminded him, “I’m going to some friends near Philadelphia for ten days”—and he remembered confusedly that a long time ago—probably yesterday morning—he had heard her speak of her projected visit.
“I had no idea,” she continued, “that you were coming up to town yesterday, or I should have tried to see you before you left. I wanted to ask you to send me a line if Bessy needs me—I’ll come back at once if she does.” Amherst continued to listen blankly, as if making a painful effort to regain some consciousness of what was being said to him, and she went on: “She seemed so nervous and poorly yesterday evening that I was sorry I had decided to go–-“
Her intent gaze reminded him that the emotions of the last twenty-four hours must still be visible in his face; and the thought of what she might detect helped to restore his self-possession. “You must not think of giving up your visit,” he began hurriedly—he had meant to add “on account of Bessy,” but he found himself unable to utter his wife’s name.
Justine was still looking at him. “Oh, I’m sure everything will be all right,” she rejoined. “You go back this afternoon, I suppose? I’ve left you a little note, with my address, and I want you to promise–-“
She paused, for Amherst had made a motion as though to interrupt her. The old confused sense that there must always be truth between them was struggling in him with the strong restraints of habit and character; and suddenly, before he was conscious of having decided to speak, he heard himself say: “I ought to tell you that I am not going back.”
“Not going back?” A flash of apprehension crossed Justine’s face. “Not till tomorrow, you mean?” she added, recovering herself.
Amherst hesitated, glancing vaguely up and down the street. At that noonday hour it was nearly deserted, and Justine’s driver dozed on his perch above the hansom. They could speak almost as openly as if they had been in one of the wood-paths at Lynbrook.
“Nor tomorrow,” Amherst said in a low voice. There was another pause before he added: “It may be some time before—” He broke off, and then continued with an effort: “The fact is, I am thinking of going back to my old work.”
She caught him up with an exclamation of surprise and sympathy. “Your old work? You mean at–-“
She was checked by the quick contraction of pain in his face. “Not that! I mean that I’m thinking of taking a new job—as manager of a Georgia mill…. It’s the only thing I know how to do, and I’ve got to do something—” He forced a laugh. “The habit of work is incurable!”
Justine’s face had grown as grave as his. She hesitated a moment, looking down the street toward the angle of Madison Square, which was visible from the corner where they stood.
“Will you walk back to the square with me? Then we can sit down a moment.”
She began to move as she spoke, and he walked beside her in silence till they had gained the seat she pointed out. Her hansom trailed after them, drawing up at the corner.
As Amherst sat down beside her, Justine turned to him with an air of quiet resolution. “Mr. Amherst—will you let me ask you something? Is this a sudden decision?”
“Yes. I decided yesterday.”
“And Bessy–-?”
His glance dropped for the first time, but Justine pressed her point. “Bessy approves?”
“She—she will, I think—when she knows–-“
