152 The Light That Failed “He is. That’s why he went away. / should have stayed and made love to you.” The girl sat with her chin on her hand, scowling. “To me! I’d like to catch you! If I wasn’t afraid o’ being hung I’d kill you. That’s what P’'d do. D’you believe me?” Dick smiled wearily. It is not pleasant to live in the company of a notion that will not work out, a fox-terrier that cannot talk, and a woman who talks too much. He would have answered, but at that moment there unrolled itself from one corner of the studio a veil, as it were, of the flimsiest gauze. He rubbed his eyes, but the gray haze would not go. “This is disgraceful indigestion. Binkie, we will go to a medicine-man. We can’t have our eyes interfered with, for by these we get our bread; also mutton-chop bones for little dogs.” The doctor was an affable local practitioner with white hair, and he said nothing till Dick began to describe the gray film in the studio. “We all want a little patching and repairing from time to time,” he chirped. “Like a ship, my dear sir, — exactly like a ship. Sometimes the hull is out of order, and we consult the surgeon; sometimes the rigging, and then I advise; sometimes the engines, and we go to the brain-specialist; sometimes the look-out on the bridge is tired, and then we see an oculist. I should recommend you to see an oculist. A little patching and repairing from time to time is all we want. An oculist, by all means.” Dick sought an oculist, — the best in London. He was certain that the local practitioner did not know anything about his trade, and more certain that Maisie would laugh at him if he were forced to wear spectacles. “Pve neglected the warnings of my lord the stomach too long. Hence these spots before the eyes, Binkie. I