"But why did you come here," said Marian—"to this wood I mean?"
"Oh, just by accident," he said, "if there's any such thing."
Marian looked him up and down again. She wondered what he was. Perhaps it was rude, but she ventured to ask him.
"Well, I used to be a painter," he said, "once upon a time. I was rather a successful one. So I saved a little money."
"But you're quite young," she said. "Why aren't you one now?"
"Because I had a disappointment," he said, "just like you have had."
Marian began to like him.
"Was it a bad one?" she asked.
"Pretty bad," he said. "I became blind."
For a moment Marian was so surprised that she couldn't say anything at all; and then she felt such a pig that she didn't want to say anything. For what was a silly little disappointment like hers beside so dreadful a thing as becoming blind? But he looked so contented and was humming so cheerfully as he counted out the cakes and began to divide them that her curiosity got the better of her, and she spoke to him once more.