"Well—the doctor here is not. She's after seeing a doctor in London and 'tis his instructions now that she's following."
"In what way are her eyes weak?" I asked, and I looked directly in her face.
With no intention to depreciate human nature, I say all men and women are liars, and with one striking difference between. Women are successful. With the utmost ease in the world, Miss Mary told me of this lovely child to whom her nephew was engaged to be married. With the most dexterous imagination she described how Clarissa's ailment compelled her to be confined to the house in semi-darkness. How lovingly they cared for her and tended her—well "it is not difficult for you to suppose," said she.
"It is not," said I. "But surely," I added, "it must be bad for her to have no exercise."
Oh—there were evenings, of course, when they took her out—just for a little walk along the cliffs. Even then they had to protect her eyes. The doctor in London had said she could not stand the light.
"What, light at night?" said I.
Miss Teresa touched Miss Mary's arm.
"Have you got the letters?" she asked. There was no hurry about it. It was said quite gently; but it served its purpose. My question was never answered. The next moment they were continuing their way to the post-office. Bellwattle and I were left alone to the pursuit of our destination.
"Do you want to see where they live now you've met them?" she asked.
"We might as well go that way," I replied. "It leads to the walk round the cliffs, doesn't it?"