But in spite of her answer the corners of her mouth grew less tense and the little patches of rose upon her cheeks returned again. Barnes felt glad of that. With her spirit up, she seemed less formidable.
“He accepted you without suspicion?” she inquired of Barnes as though she could not yet believe it.
“In such blind heart-hunger as his,” he answered, “there is little room for suspicion.”
“Truly,” she answered tartly, “my brother must be quite blind.”
As a relief from the tension of the last few minutes, Aunt Philomela’s sharp tongue came as a relish to Barnes. He had never in his life passed a more uncomfortable quarter of an hour.
“There are worse things in the world than blindness,” he suggested.
Miss Van Patten raised her head.
“I was afraid—almost afraid that father’s eyes would open and he would see again.”
“Only a guilty conscience could inspire such a fear,” snapped Aunt Philomela.
“Don’t you want to have him happy?” challenged her niece. “He is sleeping now—the first time for two days.”