s, she volunteered:

"They go to Father's room; that has the same space above."

"I see. This is a rather surprising room."

"You mean the windows?" she asked. "That surprises most people--so
very much light. Father can't see even sunlight, but he says he feels
it. He likes light, anyway; and it is true that he can tell, without
his eyes, whether the day is bright or cloudy, and whether the light is
turned on at night. The rooms in this wing, too, are nearly
sound-proof. There is not much noise from outside here, of course,
except the waves; but there are noises from other parts of the house.
Noise does not irritate Father, but his hearing has become very acute
because of his blindness, and noises sometimes distract him when he is
working.... Now, what was it you wished to say to me, Mr. Eaton?"

Eaton, with a start, recollected himself. His gaining a view of that
room was of so much more importance than what he had to say that, for a
moment, he had forgotten. Then:

"I wanted to ask you exactly what my position here is to be."

"Oh," she said. "I thought that was plain to you from what Father
said."

"You mean that I am to be kept here?"

"Yes."

"Indefinitely?"

"Until--as Father indicated to you on the train--he has satisfied
himself as to the source of the attack upon him."

"I understand. In the meantime, I am not to be allowed to communicate
at all with any one outside?"

"That might depend upon the circumstances."

He gazed at the telephone instrument on the desk. "Miss Santoine, a
moment ago I tried to telephone, when I--" He described the incident
to her. The color on her cheeks heightened. "Some one was appointed
to listen on the wire?" he challenged.

"Yes." She hesitated, and then she added, in the manner in which she
had directed him to the guard outside the house: "And besides, I
believe there are--or will be--the new phonographic devices on every
line, which record both sides of a conversation. Subject to that, you
may use the telephone."

"Thank you," said Eaton grimly. "I suppose if I were to write a
letter, it would be taken from me and opened and read."

She colored ruddier and made no comment.

"And if I wished to go to the city, I would be prevented or followed?"

"Prevented, for the present," she replied.

"Thank you."

"That is all?"

The interview had become more difficult for her; he saw that she was
anxious to have it over.

"Just one moment more,