"Don't you know where you are?"
"Every thing is still confused," said I.
I had an idea that they had carried me somewhere by train and put me into a bed, and that soft-fingered people had tended my eyes; but where I was I neither knew nor cared. Torture and blindness had been quite enough to occupy my mind.
"You are at Dr. Deane's house," said the voice, "and Dr. Deane is the twin brother of Mr. Deane, the great oculist of Grandchester, who was summoned to Shepton-Marling when you met with your accident. Perhaps you know you had a gun accident?"
"I suppose it was only that after all," said I, "but it felt like the disruption of the solar system."
"Are you still in great pain?" my unseen hostess asked sympathetically.
"Not since you have been in the room. I mean," I added, chilled by a span of silence, "I mean—I am just stating what happens to be a fact."
"Oh!" she said shortly. "Well, my uncle found that you couldn't be properly treated at your friend's little place at Shepton-Marling, so he brought you to Grandchester—and here you are."
"But I don't understand," said I, "why I should be a guest in your house."
"You are not a guest," she laughed. "You are here on the most sordid and commercial footing. Your friend—I forget his name——"