"Dear,"--sitting on a stool beside him--"you're perfectly sure this
trouble with your eyes isn't any more serious than you think?"
"Yes," he answered, firmly enough, but something in his voice sounded
queer, "I'm perfectly sure of that."
"Show me your pictures, Ernestine," laying his hand upon her hair; "I've
taken a particular notion that I want to see them."
"But first"--carried back to it--"I want to tell you something." She
laughed, excitedly. "I was coming down to tell you as soon as the doctor
left. Oh Karl--my picture in Paris--I heard from it this morning, and its
success has been--tremendous!" She laughed happily over the word and did
not think why it was Karl's hand gripped her shoulder in that quick,
tight way. "Shall I read you all about it, dear? And then will you
promise to cheer right up?"
Still that tight grip upon her shoulder! It hurt a little, but she did
not mind--it just showed how much Karl cared. The hand was still there
as she read the letter, and then the clippings which told of the
rare quality of her work, predicted the great things she was sure to
do,--sometimes it tightened a little, and sometimes it relaxed, and once,
with a quick movement he stooped down and turned her ring around, turning
the stone to the inside of her hand.
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