"But not something that will hurt you!"
"It won't hurt me,"—still abruptly, shortly.
"But I know better than that! Why any one knows that eyes in bad condition mustn't be used. And looking at pictures—up here in this bright light—so needless—so crazy,"—she laughed, though she was puzzled and worried.
He was silent, and something in his bearing went to her heart. His head, his shoulders, his whole being seemed bowed. It was so far from Karl's real self. "Any other time, dear," she said, very gently. "You know I would love to do it, but some time when you are better able to look at them."
"I'm just as able to look at them now as I will ever be," he said, slowly. "Ernestine—please."
"But Karl,"—her voice quivering—"I just can't bear to do a thing that will do you harm."
"It won't do me harm. I give you my word of honour it won't make any serious difference."
"But Dr. Parkman said—"
"I give you my word of honour," he repeated, a little sharply.
"All right, then," she relented, reluctantly, and darkened the room a little.