Then he discoursed learnedly about natural affinities, of the attraction between certain human beings of opposite sexes, even at a first most cursory meeting.
“When material law meets spiritual law, it is difficult, almost impossible, to detect which of the two is at work,” he concluded by saying. “I can assure you, doctor, I could have filled volumes with cases of possible metempsychosis as plausible, as well authenticated as yours, had I believed that the record would further faith in that which I believe to be a fundamental truth.”
“The most staggering fact of all I have not yet told you,” said Hugh, somewhat repelled by the cool and calculating reception of his experiences by the philosopher. “My wife died on a certain date. Nine months, less two days afterwards, this girl, who is conversant with my life story without ever having learned it, who knows more of my true history than any one alive, was born.”
Helven looked curiously at him.
“That is certainly strange,” he said, more interested. Then he entered notes, in a shorthand of his own invention, in one of the manuscript volumes devoted to cases of this sort, and Hugh, somewhat astonished, took leave.
He could not understand Helven’s apathy. Placing himself in imagination in the old scientist’s place, he fancied that he would have been excited to enthusiasm at the statement of a case such as his.
If he could have seen and heard Helven as he left him!
The old philosopher looked after him with a smile and a sigh.
“Fifty years old at least,” he muttered to himself, “and as much in love, as they call it, with a girl as if he were a boy!”
Then he took a few notes of the interview, and resuming his work speedily forgot Hugh and his throes as if no one existed but himself.