He had rather the air of conferring a benefit than of pronouncing a sentence, and Constance received his statement in that spirit.
"Thank you," she said. "I will be as careful as I can."
"The condition of your cure," the specialist continued with polite relentlessness, "is that you abstain from using them altogether."
Constance experienced a thrill of concern. "Which means?"
"It means, Mrs. Stuart, that you must not sew, read, write, or undertake any form of application where the eyes are a factor."
She could not believe her ears. "I am a clerk in a law-office. My employment is stenography and type-writing," she said, tentatively.
He nodded. Evidently he had been informed. "It will be impossible for you to continue it."
"But I must. I must do my work. My children are dependent on it." Her tone suggested that there could be no answer to such a plea.
"You cannot. If you do, you will become blind. I am very sorry for you."
The truth was out. She lay dumfounded. "Blind? Blind?" she echoed.