large, warm-looking fingers. Maurice's hand closed over the thin white
fingers of the barrister. Bertie carefully extricated himself. Then the
two watched the blind man smelling the violets. He bent his head and
seemed to be thinking. Isabel waited.

'Aren't they sweet, Maurice?' she said at last, anxiously.

'Very,' he said. And he held out the bowl. Bertie took it. Both he and
Isabel were a little afraid, and deeply disturbed.

The meal continued. Isabel and Bertie chatted spasmodically. The blind
man was silent. He touched his food repeatedly, with quick, delicate
touches of his knife-point, then cut irregular bits. He could not bear to
be helped. Both Isabel and Bertie suffered: Isabel wondered why. She did
not suffer when she was alone with Maurice. Bertie made her conscious of
a strangeness.

After the meal the three drew their chairs to the fire, and sat down to
talk. The decanters were put on a table near at hand. Isabel knocked the
logs on the fire, and clouds of brilliant sparks went up the chimney.
Bertie noticed a slight weariness in her bearing.

'You will be glad when your child comes now, Isabel?' he said.

She looked up to him with a quick wan smile.

'Yes, I shall be glad,' she answered. 'It begins to seem long. Yes, I
shall be very glad. So will you, Maurice, won't you?' she added.

'Yes, I shall,' replied her husband.