Betty’s eyes again sought Fortescue’s. There was evidently something the matter.
“Have your eyes been troubling you?” she said.
“Yes,” replied Fortescue.
He seemed disinclined to give any particulars.
“I remember,” said Betty, after a pause, and a thread of light stealing into her mind, “that after the fire, when you came over the next day, my grandfather told me that the smoke had affected your eyes. Did it turn out to be anything serious?”
“Rather.”
“And is that why you have an indefinite leave?”
Betty was determined to wring the truth out of Fortescue, and at last succeeded.
“Yes,” he replied; “the smoke affected my eyes very strangely. I went to New York, and saw the best oculists there, and they told me my eyes would probably recover, and did a variety of things for me, but nothing seemed to do me any good. Then I got leave and went to Paris and Vienna, with no better result. All the doctors have agreed that to live a quiet country life, free from excitement, was my best chance. Of course I had to get sick leave, but I would not ask to be retired. I shall fight my retirement as long as I can. I want to be back in active service.”
