“Very, I should say,” she answered.
“And the child—she is blind, you say?”
“Not now,” said Frances gently. “She is dead.”
He bent his head. “How did she come to die?”
“It was an accident,” Frances said. “It happened one night——”
She stopped. He was looking at her strangely, almost as if he suspected her of trying to deceive him.
“You are sure it was an accident?” he said.
She gazed back at him in amazement. “How could it have been anything else?”
He made a peculiar gesture as if to check her questioning. “And the old man? Tell me more about him! What form does his malady take?”
His manner was compelling. She found herself answering, though wonder still possessed her. “He suffers with his heart, and at times his brain wanders a little. He gave me the impression of being worn out, but I did not see a great deal of him.”