‘I think I understand you, Miss Meredith. You mean that I am not to take fright at a few irritable words, or be offended if I am contradicted flatly. I assure you, you need have no fears. Mr. Meredith and I are capital friends, and mean to continue such. I shall avoid all exciting topics, because I see they injure him, and you need not be at all afraid that I shall lead him into argument or do anything to annoy or displease him. As I know that his health is affected, I shall be the more careful.’ Roma’s face cleared visibly. ‘Thank you very much, Mr. Debenham. It is kind of you to be so considerate. I did want to warn you against anything exciting, because the doctor said it was so very bad for him. You see his blindness makes him live so much to himself, that he does not understand any point of view but his own.’ ‘I can quite understand that. It is very sad for him.’ ‘Very, indeed,’ and again the spasm of pain—pain that was almost like remorse—crossed her face. ‘It makes me want to spare him everything I can. I never cross him—never thwart him in anything. I would rather die than give him pain; especially now I know that pain might almost kill him. Of course I cannot expect others to feel as I do; but you have been so kind to him, Mr. Debenham, that I cannot help trusting you, though I have not spoken of this to anyone else. You will humour him, won’t you? You will try not to cross or disturb him? He is fond of you, and I don’t think he will ever be hard to deal with; but even if he is, you will try to soothe him without letting him get excited?’ ‘Certainly, Miss Meredith; you may trust me,’ answered Tor readily; and there was no time to say more, for at that moment the door opened slowly and the blind man entered. Tor pushed back his chair and advanced to meet him, talking gaily and unconcernedly; but Roma had been too much moved to assume in a moment her usual manner. Her voice betrayed to her father’s fine ear, that something had occurred to disturb her customary equanimity, and he smiled to himself as he noted how particularly gentle, and almost filial, the young man’s manner towards him had grown. Roma made him some tea, and they both waited on him and anticipated his wants, and his peculiarly acute senses made him absolutely certain that some ground had been gained between them—some mutual understanding arrived at. He was complaisant and benign to both, and filled with a comfortable sense that he had not over-rated his powers, and that all was coming round in accordance with his plans. When Tor was gone, Roma resumed her work, and her father was not ill-pleased to find that she was unusually silent and preoccupied. ‘Well, Roma,’ he said at last, ‘how long had Philip Debenham been here?’ ‘Not very long; perhaps a quarter of an hour.’ ‘I am afraid I interrupted you.’ ‘Oh no!’ Roma laughed, not quite naturally. ‘It was you he came to see.’ ‘Ah, well, I don’t know so much about that. You were very deep in talk.’