“I am sure of it!” declared Charlotte, managing to smile, wistfully, at the living reproduction of her sweetheart. “And I think Harry did perfectly right, in handing it to me to keep.”
“Why?”
“Well, if for no other reason than because it behaves so differently with me, than it did with him.
“Hobart, I am inclined to think that this fact is very significant. If Chick had only known of it, he wouldn't have insisted that Harry should wear it; and then—”
“Can't be helped,” I interrupted quickly. “Chick didn't know; he was only certain that someone—SOMEONE—must wear the ring; that it mustn't pass out of the possession of humans. Moreover, much as Rhamda Avec may desire it—and the Nervina, too—neither can secure it through the use of force. Nobody knows why.”
Charlotte shivered. “I'm afraid there's something spooky about it, after all.”
“Nothing of the sort,” with a conviction that has never left me. “This ring is a perfectly sound fact, as indisputable as the submarine. There's nothing supernatural about it; for that matter, I personally doubt if there's ANYTHING supernatural. Every phenomenon which seems, at first, so wonderful, becomes commonplace enough as soon as explained. Isn't it true that you yourself are already getting used to that ring?”
“Ye—es,” reluctantly. “That is, partly. If only it were someone other than Harry!”
“Of course,” I hurried to say, “I only wanted to make it clear that we haven't any witchcraft to deal with. This whole mystery will become plain as day, and that damned soon!”
“You've got a theory?”—hopefully.