There was a warm friendliness for
Durrance moreover expressed, not so much in a sentence as in the whole
spirit of the letters. It was evident that she was most keenly
interested in all that he did; that, in a way, she looked upon his
career as a thing in which she had a share, even if it was only a
friend's share. And when Calder had ended he looked again at Durrance,
but now with a face of relief. It seemed, too, that Durrance was
relieved.

"After all, one has something to be thankful for," he cried. "Think!
Suppose that I had been engaged to her! She would never have allowed me
to break it off, once I had gone blind. What an escape!"

"An escape?" exclaimed Calder.

"You don't understand. But I knew a man who went blind; a good fellow,
too, before--mind that, before! But a year after! You couldn't have
recognised him. He had narrowed down into the most selfish, exacting,
egotistical creature it is possible to imagine. I don't wonder; I hardly
see how he could help it; I don't blame him. But it wouldn't make life
easier for a wife, would it? A helpless husband who can't cross a road
without his wife at his elbow is bad enough. But make him a selfish
beast into the bargain, full of questions, jealous of her power to go
where she will, curious as to every person with whom she speaks--and
what then? My God, I am glad that girl refused me. For that I am most
grateful."

"She refused you?" asked Calder, and the relief passed from his face and
voice.

"Twice," said Durrance. "What an escape! You see, Calder, I shall be
more trouble even than the man I told you of. I am not clever. I can't
sit in a chair and amuse myself by thinking, not having any intellect to
buck about. I have lived out of doors and hard, and that's the only sort
of life that suits me. I tell you, Calder, you won't be very anxious for
much of my society in a year's time," and he laughed again and with the
same harshness.

"Oh, stop that," said Calder; "I will read the rest of your letters to
you."

He read them, however, without much attention to their contents. His
mind was occupied with the two letters from Ethne Eustace, and he was
wondering whether there was any deeper emotion than mere friendship
hidden beneath the words. Girls refused men for all sorts of queer
reasons which had no sense in them, and very often they were sick and
sorry about it afterwards; and very often they meant to accept the men
all the time.

"I must answer the le