"Can you account," I inquired, approaching a subject which I knew was in Bob's mind, and to which he was unwilling to be the first to refer, "for his impression that there was another presence in the room beside ourselves?"
"I cannot," said Bob curtly; "nor can you."
"I do not pretend that I can; but it has set me thinking. Would you object to let me into the secret of the delusion under which he labors?"
"There can be no harm in my doing so," he replied, after a pause. "In a certain way it is a love story, of which I believe Ronald has seen the end, a belief which is not shared by him. The incidents are few, and he sets store upon them, as most young men do who have been in love. It commenced about six years ago, when Ronald, fagged with overwork, went for a summer ramble on the Continent. He spent a few days in Paris, and then took the morning train to Geneva. It is a long travel from Paris to Geneva, and to anyone not cheerfully inclined a wearisome one. A happy spirit is required to enjoy a dozen hours boxed up in a railway carriage, but probably this day was to Ronald the happiest, as it was certainly the most eventful, in his life. For traveling in that train were a young lady and her father, a widower, I believe, though upon this point I cannot speak with certainty, nor can I tell you the gentleman's name, for the reason that Ronald has never mentioned it to me. The lady's was Beatrice, and that is all I know. In the course of that eventful day Ronald found opportunity to make himself of service to the young lady, but his attentions did not appear to be as agreeable to the father as they were to the daughter. It could not be doubted that she accepted them very readily, and that Ronald was as attractive to her as she was to him. From what I have gathered I should say that it was a case of love at first sight on both sides. Ronald, as you have seen, is a handsome young fellow, who would be likely to win favor with ladies all the world over, and at the time I am speaking of he was not oppressed by the fear of losing his sight.
"When they were within a short distance of Geneva he asked Beatrice at which hotel they were going to put up, and she replied that she did not know. He inquired of her father, and that gentleman said he had not made up his mind.
"'I hope we shall meet again,' said Ronald to Beatrice. 'Where do you go from Geneva?'
"'To Chamounix, of course,' she replied. 'I have never been in Switzerland before. Have you?'
"'Oh, yes,' he said. And then he described to her some of the most beautiful spots in Switzerland, and you may be sure that those beautiful spots were the places he intended to visit, and for which he had taken a circular ticket.
"'Perhaps I shall see you in Chamounix,' he said. 'Do you remain long in Geneva?'
"She could not inform him, and he had perforce to live on hope; for, to a fishing inquiry he put to Beatrice's father as to their probable length of stay in Geneva, the reply he received was that no definite plan of travel had been laid out. They might remain in Geneva a week or a fortnight, or they might leave it the next day. Even at this early stage of his acquaintanceship with Beatrice, Ronald discovered that her father did not wish to be intruded upon by strangers. It was dark when the train stopped at the Geneva station, and all Ronald's offers of assistance with the luggage were refused. However, he had the satisfaction, when he shook hands with Beatrice and wished her goodnight, of receiving from her something more than a careless pressure, and he marched to his hotel with the determination not to lose sight of her.