“Immediately the shade was removed?”
“No,” she answered, “not just immediately. You see, I was looking at the floor, which is so dark, of course, that you couldn’t see it in the ordinary way. Then as soon as I looked up I could see the lamp. For a moment I thought it was my imagination, but when I found I could see Ron stooping over the developing-dish I knew that I was all right again.”
“This is very extraordinary, you know,” said Garnesk. “Can you count the bottles on the middle shelf?”
“Oh, yes!” laughed Myra, “I can make them out distinctly. Of course, I know pretty well what they are, but in any case I could easily describe them to you if I’d never seen them before.”
“What have I got in my hand?” the specialist queried, holding his arm out.
“A pair of nail-clippers,” Myra declared emphatically, and Garnesk laughed.
“Well,” he said, “you can obviously see it pretty well; but, as a matter of fact, it’s a cigar-cutter.”
“Oh! well, you see,” the girl explained airily, “I always put necessity before luxury!”
So then the oculist made her sit down again and questioned and cross-questioned her at considerable length.
“I’m puzzled, but delighted,” he admitted finally. “It’s strange, but it is at the same time decidedly hopeful.”