He's
dreadfully poor, and papa says he thinks he is after my money. Do you
think that can be so?"
So far the public performance could not have gone better if it had been
rehearsed. But at this point, the whole programme went to pieces.
Peter's cup of tea fell to the floor with a crash, and he was leaning
back in his chair, with a look of suffering on his face.
"Peter," cried Leonore, "what is it?"
"Excuse me," said Peter, rallying a little. "Ever since an operation on
my eyes they sometimes misbehave themselves. It's neuralgia of the optic
nerve. Sometimes it pains me badly. Don't mind me. It will be all right
in a minute if I'm quiet."
"Can't I do anything?"
"No. I have an eye-wash which I used to carry with me, but it is so long
since I have had a return of my trouble that I have stopped carrying
it."
"What causes it?"
"Usually a shock. It's purely nervous."
"But there was no shock now, was there?" said Leonore, feeling so guilty
that she felt it necessary to pretend innocence.
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