"Eyes—yes. But the eye is only an instrument; he has not lost his brain." The flush in her cheeks deepened. Her eyes met his in challenge. Her voice on that had been very firm.
He was quick to read beyond the words. "You are asking, intending to ask, why he could not go on, working through some assistant?"
"I want to know just what is your idea of why he cannot. All the things of mind and temperament—things which make him Karl—are there as before. Are we not letting a very little thing hold us back?"—there was much repression now, as though she must hold herself in check, and wait.
"I've thought about it too!" he exclaimed. "Heaven knows I've tried to see it that way. But my conclusion has always been like Karl's: the handicap would be too great."
"Why?" she asked calmly.
"Why? Why—because," he replied, almost impatiently, and then laughed a little at his woman's reason.
"I'll tell you why!"—her eyes deepening. "I'll tell you the secret of your conclusion. You concluded he could not go on with his work just because no assistant could be in close enough touch with Karl to make clear the things he saw."
He thought a minute. Then, "That's about it," he answered briefly.
"You concluded that two men's brains could not work together in close enough harmony for one man's eyes to fit the other man's brain."
"You put it very clearly," he assented.