At any rate, he could not see her confusion at her own _malapropos_--that was something! She recovered from it to find him saying:--"But what I want to know is--_what_ happened yesterday? I mean, how came you to know anything you did not know before? Was it anything _I_ did? I thought I got through it so capitally." He spoke more dejectedly than hitherto, palpably because his efforts at pretence of vision had failed. The calamity itself was all but forgotten. Gwen saw nothing ahead but confession. Well--it might be the best way to the haven she wanted to steer for. "It was not what you _did_," said she. "You made believe quite beautifully all the time we were sitting there, talking talk. It was when I was just going. You remember when mamma had gone away with 'Rene, and I put my foot in it over those verses?" "Yes, indeed I do. Only, you know, that wasn't because of the Watchman. I never mixed him in--not with my affairs. A sort of Oriental character!" "Well--that was my mistake. You remember when, anyhow? Now, do you know, all the time I was standing there talking about the Watchman, I was holding out my hand to you to say good-night, and you never offered to take it, and put your hands in your pockets? It must have gone on for quite two minutes. And I was determined not to give a hint, and there was no one else there...." Gwen thought she could understand the gesture that made her pause, a sudden movement of the blind man's right hand as though it had been stung by the discovery of its own backwardness. He dropped it immediately in a sort of despairing way, then threw it up impatiently. "All no use!" he said. "No use--no use--no use!" The sound of his despair was in his voice as he let the hand fall again upon his knee. He gave a heart-broken sigh:--"Oh dear!" and then sat on silent. Gwen was afraid to speak. For all she knew, her first word might be choked by a sob. After a few moments he spoke again:--"And there was I--thinking--thinking...." and stopped short. "Thinking what?" said Gwen timidly.