"Sometimes it does n't do any good to know the truth. It only hurts."
"Even then, it's best. When I get my eyes—"
She shrank farther away from him, for she saw him struggling even then to open them.
It was this possibility which from that point on added a new terror to these daily drives. Marjory had told Monte that Peter's recovery was something to which she looked forward; but when she said that she had been sitting alone and pouring out her heart to Monte. She had not then been facing this fact by the side of Peter. It was one thing to dream boldly, with all her thoughts of Monte, and quite another to confront the same facts actually and alone. If this crisis came now, it was going to hurt her and hurt Peter, and do no good to any one; while, if it could be postponed six months, perhaps it would not hurt so much. It was better for Peter to endure his blindness a little longer than to see too soon. So the next day she decided she would not kiss his eyes. He came to her in the morning, and stood before her, waiting. She placed her hand upon his shoulder.
"Peter," she said as gently as she could, "I do not think I shall kiss you again for a little while."
She saw his lips tighten; but, to her surprise, he made no protest.
"No, dear heart," he answered.
"It is n't because I wish to be unkind," she said. "Only, until you know the whole truth, I don't feel honest with you."
"Come over by the window and sit down in the light," he requested.
With a start she glanced nervously at his eyes. They were closed. She took a chair in the sun, and he sat down opposite her.