"What train did you come in on?" she asked.
"At noon. Brooks thought I ought to see a specialist. He doesn't give me much encouragement about my eyes. He wants me to stop writing, but I shan't until I get through with my book."
He spoke recklessly, but Anne saw the shadow on his face. "You aren't telling us how really serious it is," she said, as Beulah's attention was diverted.
"It is so serious that for the first time in my life I know myself to be—a coward. Last night I lay in bed with my eyes shut to see how it would seem to be blind. It was a pretty morbid thing to do—and this morning finished me."
She tried to speak her sympathy, but could not. Her eyes were full of tears.
"Don't," he said, softly, "my good little friend—my good little friend."
She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. The unconscious Beulah, busy with her oysters, asked: "Is the Tobasco too hot? I'm all burning up with it."
Geoffrey was able later to speak lightly of his affliction. "I shall go to the Brooks ball as a Blind Beggar."
"Oh, how can you make fun of it?"
"It is better to laugh than to cry. But your tears were—a benediction."