It gave way, and--this ruin is the result!
I--I--cannot express to you how I regret the accident."
"_Don't_ be troubled over it, dear friend, _please_ don't," Mrs.
Blackwood urged. "Nothing is broken but the bowl, and that may have been
cracked before,--it seems to me that one of them was; let us rather
rejoice that you were not hurt by your fall, for _that_ would indeed
have been a serious matter. Now I'm sure you want to resume looking over
that 'Abbe Marite;' isn't it quaint? and perhaps among Mr. Blackwood's
glasses we may be able to find a pair that would suit your eyes for the
nonce. I know how perfectly lost one feels without one's 'second eyes.'
Shall we make the selection? Come, Felix and Nannie,--you, too,
Max,--and help us get the right focus. Oh, please don't speak of going,
Mr. Rose."
Chatting pleasantly to divert my father's mind from the accident,
Mrs. Blackwood led us into her husband's smoking-room, where from
his collection of spectacles and eyeglasses my father made a selection
which enabled him to finish the "Abbe," and soon after that to get home
with some degree of comfort.
There were no more _contretemps_ that afternoon, I am thankful to say;
Max went home and dined with us.
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