"You're pleased today," said Bessie.
Dick waved his mahl-stick in mystic circles and went to the sideboard for a
drink. In the evening, when the exaltation of the day had died down, he went to
the sideboard again, and after some visits became convinced that the eye-doctor
was a liar, since he could still see everything very clearly.
He was of opinion that he would even make a home for Maisie, and that whether
she liked it or not she should be his wife. The mood passed next morning, but
the sideboard and all upon it remained for his comfort.
Again he set to work, and his eyes troubled him with spots and dashes and blurs
till he had taken counsel with the sideboard, and the Melancolia both on the
canvas and in his own mind appeared lovelier than ever. There was a delightful
sense of irresponsibility upon him, such as they feel who walking among their
fellow-men know that the death-sentence of disease is upon them, and, seeing
that fear is but waste of the little time left, are riotously happy. The days
passed without event.
Bessie arrived punctually always, and, though her voice seemed to Dick to come
from a distance, her face was always very near. The Melancolia began to flame
on the canvas, in the likeness of a woman who had known all the sorrow in the
world and was laughing at it.
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