"This is the drawing-room," she said, standing aside.

They walked into a sparsely furnished, damp-smelling room and made a
pretence of looking round, while Mrs. Creake remained silent and
aloof.

"The dining-room," she continued, crossing the narrow hall and opening
another door.

Mr. Carlyle ventured a genial commonplace in the hope of inducing
conversation. The result was not encouraging. Doubtless they would
have gone through the house under the same frigid guidance had not
Carrados been at fault in a way that Mr. Carlyle had never known him
fail before. In crossing the hall he stumbled over a mat and almost
fell.

"Pardon my clumsiness," he said to the lady. "I am, unfortunately,
quite blind. But," he added, with a smile, to turn off the mishap,
"even a blind man must have a house."

The man who had eyes was surprised to see a flood of colour rush into
Mrs. Creake's face.

"Blind!" she exclaimed, "oh, I beg your pardon. Why did you not tell
me? You might have fallen."

"I generally manage fairly well," he replied. "But, of course, in a
strange house--"

She put her hand on his arm very lightly.