“Never mind that. I'm quite respectable, as you'd see by looking at me. You don't seem to live too well. What made you go blind that sudden? Why isn't there any one to look after you?”
Dick was too thankful for the sound of her voice to resent the tone of it.
“I was cut across the head a long time ago, and that ruined my eyes. I don't suppose anybody thinks it worth while to look after me any more. Why should they?—and Mr. Beeton really does everything I want.”
“Don't you know any gentlemen and ladies, then, while you was—well?”
“A few, but I don't care to have them looking at me.”
“I suppose that's why you've growed a beard. Take it off, it don't become you.”
“Good gracious, child, do you imagine that I think of what becomes of me these days?”
“You ought. Get that taken off before I come here again. I suppose I can come, can't I?”
“I'd be only too grateful if you did. I don't think I treated you very well in the old days. I used to make you angry.”
“Very angry, you did.”