“But why?”
“Because if you go further than admiration you’ll be treading dangerous ground—devilish dangerous, I can assure you.”
“You mean that she has a jealous lover?” I suggested.
“She has no lover, as far as I’m aware,” he answered.
“Then, speaking candidly, Channing,” I said, “I don’t see why you should turn prophet like this without giving me any reason.”
“My reason is briefly told,” he said with unusual gravity. “I don’t wish to see you upset and unhappy, now that you’ve recovered your sight.”
His words seemed very lame ones.
“Why should I be unhappy?”
“Because Mabel Anson can never be more to you than an acquaintance; she can never reciprocate your love. I tell you plainly that if you allow yourself to become entranced and all that sort of thing, you’ll only make a confounded ass of yourself.”
“You certainly speak very plainly,” I observed, annoyed that he should interfere so prematurely in a matter which was assuredly my affair alone.