Laurel stood, and said goodnight. “Dr. Courtland believes the time’s almost here to try your pinhole specs,” she dared to add. “Do you hear, Father?” He, who had been the declared optimist, had not once expressed hope. Now it was she who was offering it to him. And it might be false hope. There was no response in the room. Judge McKelva, like Mr. Dalzell, lay in the dark, and Fay crouched in the rocker, one cheek on the windowsill, with a peep on the crack. Laurel went reluctantly away.
