If I could lose my eyes and have my voice again--my
voice!"
His flippancy broke down on those words, with one sincere and tragic
note that touched me through my contempt. Watching, he saw this, and
catching at self-control, he caught also at the straw of sympathy within
his reach.
"I wanted to die for a while," he went on. "But youth is strong, even
when you're down on your luck--down at the deepest. My sister came to
St. Raphael to be with me. It may seem queer to you, but I'm her idol.
She's lost everything else--or rather she thinks she has, which is much
the same--everything that made her life worth living. She wanted to be a
singer. Her voice wasn't strong enough. She wanted to be an actress. She
knew how to act, but--she _couldn't_, Heaven knows why. She's got
temperament enough, but she couldn't let herself out. You see what she's
like! She failed in America, where she'd followed me against our
mother's will. Mother died while we were there. Another blow! And a man
Dierdre's been half engaged to was killed in Belgium. She didn't love
him, but he was made of money. It would have been a big match! She took
to nursing only after I was called up. You know in France a girl doesn't
need much experience to get into a hospital. But poor little Dare wasn't
more of a success at nursing than on the stage. Not enough
self-confidence--too sensitive. People think she's always in the
sulks--and so she is, these days.
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