“Terrible state, poor girl; broken-hearted; I only saw her for a few moments. Dreadful accident, is it not?”
Glyddyr felt his blood run cold, and his eyes seemed to him to be vacant, as he gazed straight at the doctor. “Accident?” he said, huskily.
“Oh, yes; no doubt about that. But you understand, do you not?”
“No—yes—I think I do,” said Glyddyr, whose throat felt dry.
“Of course. Poor fellow, I warned him against it over and over again, but it is of no use with a man who once becomes a slave to a drug.”
“Yes, I see,” said Glyddyr, staring hard at the doctor, but not seeing him.
“I feel as if I were to blame, but, on dispassionate consideration, what could I do?”
“Of course,” answered Glyddyr, “what could you do?”
“It was better that he should take the drug under my supervision than recklessly alone.”
“Yes; much,” said Glyddyr, vacantly.