It was the first human word that he had spoken, and I was grateful for it.  “I have already covered that point,” I said, in a low voice.  “The medical books are full of painful evidence that several blind children are often not enough.  There can be no escaping the necessity—­Sylvia must know. The only question is, who shall tell her?  You must realize that in urging you to be the person, I am thinking of your good as well as hers.  I will, of course, not mention that I have had anything to do with persuading you, and so it will seem to her that you have some realization of the wrong you have done her, some desire to atone for it, and to be honourable and fair in your future dealings with her.  When she has once been made to realize that you are no more guilty than other men of your class—­hat you have done no worse than all of them——­

“You imagine she could be made to believe that?” he broke in, impatiently.

“I will undertake to see that she believes it,” I replied.

“You seem to have great confidence in your ability to manage my wife!”

“If you continue to resent my existence,” I answered, gravely, “you will make it impossible for me to help you.”

“Pardon me,” he said—­but he did not say it cordially.

I went on:  “There is much that can be said in your behalf.  I realize it is quite possible that you were not wholly to blame when you wrote to Bishop Chilton that you were fit to marry; I know that you may have believed it—­that you might even have found physicians to tell you so.  There is wide-spread ignorance on the subject of this disease.  Men have the idea that the chronic forms of it cannot be communicated to women, and it is difficult to make them realize what modern investigations have proven.  You can explain that to Sylvia, and I will back you up in it.  You were in love with her, you wanted her.  Go to her now, and admit to her honestly that you have wronged her.  Beg her to forgive you, and to let you help make the best of the cruel situation that has arisen.”

So I went on, pouring out my soul.  And when I had finished, he said, “Mrs. Abbott, I have listened patiently to your most remarkable proposition.  My answer is that I must ask you to withdraw from this intimate matter, which concerns only my wife and myself.”

He was back where we started!  Trying to sweep aside these grim and terrible realities with the wave of a conventional hand!  Was this the way he met Sylvia’s arguments?  I felt moved to tell him what I thought of him.

“You are a proud man, Mr. van Tuiver—­an obstinate man, I fear.  It is hard for you to humble yourself to your wife—­to admit a crime and beg forgiveness.  Tell me—­is that why you hesitate?  Is it because you fear you will have to take second place in your family from now on—­that you will no longer be able to dominate Sylvia?  Are you afraid of putting into her hands a weapon of self-defence?”