"So she's not coming," was her only observation, delivered in a voice so deep that, like Mrs. Siddons's "Will it wash?" it startled.
"Did you expect her?" I ventured to say.
The sepulchral voice spoke again. "Which is the blind one?"
Drinkwater moved forward. She, too, moved forward, coming into the room and scanning him face to face.
"You don't look so awful blind."
"No, but I am—for the present."
"For the present? Does that mean that you expect to regain your sight?"
"The doctors say that it may come back suddenly as it went."
"And suppose it don't?"
"Oh, well, I've got along without it for the past six months, so I suppose I can do it for the next sixty years. I've given it a good try, and in some ways I like it."