To him, what was the benefit of that beautiful Perthshire castle which he had purchased from Lord Strathavon a year before his compulsory retirement?
What was the use of the old ancestral manor near Caistor in Lincolnshire, or the town-house in Park Street, the snug hunting-box at Melton, or the beautiful palm-shaded, flower-embowered villa overlooking the blue southern sea at San Remo?
He remembered them all.

He had misty visions of their splendour and their luxury; but since his blindness he had seldom, if ever, entered them.

That big library up in Scotland in which he now sat was the room he preferred; and with his daughter Gabrielle to bear him company, to smooth his brow with her soft hand, to chatter and to gossip, he wished for no other companion.

His life was of the past, a meteor that had flashed and had vanished for ever.
"Tell me, child, what is troubling you ?" he was asking in a calm, kind voice, as he still held the girl's hand in his.

The sweet scent of the roses from the garden beyond filled the room.
A smart footman in livery opened the door at that moment, asking, "Stokes has just returned with the car from Perth, Sir Henry, and asks if you want him further at present." "No," replied his blind master.