“I suppose it means that she will always be able to see in a red light at any rate?” I suggested.
“Probably it does,” he agreed, “and, of course, her sight may be completely restored. There is also a middle course; she may be able to see perfectly after a course of treatment in red light. I will get her a pair of red glasses made at once. We can see how that goes. But I feel that it would be advisable to introduce her to daylight in gradual stages, in case of any risk.”
“Oh, if we could only find poor old Sholto!” Myra exclaimed eagerly. Garnesk turned to her with a look of frank admiration.
“You’re a lucky young dog, Ewart,” he whispered to me, “by Jove you are!”
So Myra graciously, but a little regretfully I think, placed herself in the hands of the young specialist and replaced her shade. Then we left the dark-room, allowing the films to develop out on the floor, and went downstairs. We took her out on to the verandah and removed the shade for a moment, but the chill air of the highland night made her eyes smart after their unaccustomed imprisonment, and we gave up the experiment for that night.
As Garnesk and I bathed together in the morning we were both brighter and more cheerful than we had been since his arrival.
“I shall catch the train from Mallaig,” he declared. “Can you take me in and meet your friend without having long to wait?”
“If you insist on going,” I replied, “I can get you there in time to meet him and you will have an hour or more to wait for your train.”
“Oh, so much the better! We can tell him everything and give him all the news in the interval.”