“‘And yet you put him off!’ I snarled, ‘and add the hell of uncertainty to the agony he’s got to suffer anyway when he hears the truth!’
“‘Go in and tell him yourself then,’ grumbled this doctor.
“‘I will,’ said I, and flung open the door and went out. I found Dalton lying on his bunk, his face swathed in fresh bandages, his straight mouth sphinx-like.
“‘Dalton,’ said I, roughly, ‘the doctor has just told me that you are blind.’
“‘Has he?’ said Dalton, calmly. ‘The poor chap lacked the nerve to tell me, and I don’t know that I blame him much. Beastly thing, that, to have to tell a chap that he’s blind.’
“I began to choke up again, Doctor. I had been purposely rough, commonplace, and I had expected and in fact half wished an hysterical outburst. As it was, the situation was infinitely more difficult. For several minutes Dalton did not speak.
“‘Would you like me to stay with you?’ I asked, ‘or shall I get out?’
“The bandaged head rolled toward me and the fine mouth curved in a smile which showed the white, even teeth.
“‘Don’t stay, Doctor; it is horribly depressing for you and I am so busy thinking that I don’t notice being alone. Come in and see me to-night, if you like.’
“I left him then and went aft on the other side of the ship from Burton’s room, and as I went I looked my hardest at the blue water and the blue sky and the bright-work and the bright faces of the children scampering up and down the deck ... and then a mist came before my eyes and my vision was as Dalton’s would be, ‘behind ground glass.’