After a time the culprit began to feel the need of a little self-
respect. He was quite sure that he had not in any way departed from virtue, and
there were reasons, too, of which Torpenhow knew nothing. He would explain.
He rose, tried to straighten his shoulders, and spoke to the face he could
hardly see.
"You are right," he said. "But I am right, too. After you went away I had some
trouble with my eyes. So I went to an oculist, and he turned a gasogene--I mean
a gas-engine--into my eye. That was very long ago. He said, 'Scar on the head,-
-sword-cut and optic nerve.' Make a note of that. So I am going blind. I have
some work to do before I go blind, and I suppose that I must do it. I cannot
see much now, but I can see best when I am drunk. I did not know I was drunk
till I was told, but I must go on with my work. If you want to see it, there it
is." He pointed to the all but finished Melancolia and looked for applause.
Torpenhow said nothing, and Dick began to whimper feebly, for joy at seeing
Torpenhow again, for grief at misdeeds--if indeed they were misdeeds--that made
Torpenhow remote and unsympathetic, and for childish vanity hurt, since
Torpenhow had not given a word of praise to his wonderful picture.
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