“I should have thought,” she answered with unaffected surprise, “it was those who can’t see.”
“Have you looked up through the sky-light this afternoon?” he asked. “The sunset is glorious.”
“Describe it to me. I love descriptions,” she said with simple enthusiasm.
“You had better see it for yourself,” he said crossly and turned away. He felt so wretched that really he would have liked to go to sea.
He sighed again,—and looked back at Belinda. Why, her eyes were open! He hurried over to her, pinching with great energy his arm as he went, in order to make himself tearful, and thus, if possible, appear more miserable than he already did. The tears did come, but just as he got to Belinda she closed her eyes once more.
“The sunset is indeed perfect,” she said, “I have been watching it till my eyes ache, and I cannot keep them open any longer.”
“I look just as if I had a cold in my head. You can see that for yourself, can’t you?” he asked, hoping that this question would induce her to glance at him and observe his tears.
“Why, no,” she answered, “I can’t because my eyes are closed. But if you say so, I suppose you must be correct.”