Richard turned to him with a sad smile.
“Go on, then,” he said.
“I will,” said Pratt. “Never mind the text or the sequence of what I say. I only wanted to talk to you, old fellow, about life.”
“I was just then thinking about death,” said Richard, quietly.
“About death?”
“I was visiting in spirit the little corner at Highgate where that poor girl lies, and thinking of a wish she expressed.”
“What was that?”
Richard shook his head, and they were silent as the train rushed on.
“Life is a strange mystery, Dick,” said Pratt at last, laying his hand on his friend’s knee; “and I know it is giving you great pain to come down here and see others happy. It is to give them pleasure you are coming down?”
Richard nodded.