“I am not going to insult your ears,” he said, “with discussions of her ideas. The proper person to settle such matters is a physician, and if you wish Dr. Perrin to do so, he will tell you what he knows about the case. But I wish you to realize somehow what this thing has meant to me. I have managed to control myself----” He saw her shut her lips more tightly. “The doctors tell me that I must not excite you. But picture the situation. I come to my home, bowed down with grief for you and for my child. And this mad woman thrusts herself forward, shoves aside your aunt and your physicians, and comes in the launch to meet me at the station. And then she accuses me of being criminally guilty of the blindness of my child--of having wilfully deceived my wife! Think of it--that is my welcome to my home!” “Douglas,” she cried, wildly, “Mary Abbott would not have done such a thing without reason----” “I do not purpose to defend myself,” he said, coldly. “If you are bent upon filling your mind with such matters, go to Dr. Perrin. He will tell you that he, as a physician, knows that the charge against me is preposterous. He will tell you that even granting that the cause of the blindness is what Mrs. Abbott guesses, there are a thousand ways in which such an infection can be contracted, which are perfectly innocent, involving no guilt on the part of anyone. Every doctor knows that drinking-cups, wash-basins, towels, even food, can be contaminated. He knows that any person can bring the affliction into a home--servants, nurses, even the doctors themselves. Has your mad woman friend told you any of that?” “She has told me nothing. You know that I have had no opportunity to talk with her. I only know what the nurses believe----” “They believe what Mrs. Abbott told them. That is absolutely all the reason they have for believing anything!” She did not take that quite as he expected. “So Mary Abbott _did_ tell them!” she cried. He hurried on: “The poisonous idea of a vulgar Socialist woman--this is the thing upon which you base your suspicions of your husband!” “Oh!” she whispered, half to herself. “Mary Abbott _did_ say it!” “What if she did?” “Oh, Douglas, Mary would never have said such a thing to a nurse unless she had been certain of it!” “Certain?” he broke out. “What certainty could she imagine she had? She is a bitter, frantic woman--a divorced woman--who jumped to the conclusion that pleased her, because it involved the humiliation of a rich man.” He went on, his voice trembling with suppressed passion: “When you know the real truth, the thing becomes a nightmare. You, a delicate woman, lying here helpless--the victim of a cruel misfortune, and with the life of an afflicted infant depending upon your peace of mind. Your physicians planning day and night to keep you quiet, to keep the dreadful, unbearable truth from you----”