"Oh, no," I answered. "A trifle morbid, perhaps, but no more than that."
He said slowly, as if talking to himself: "Morbid? That's the word she used."
"Who?"
"Helen."
I think we both of us then stood suddenly still. We had entered a bright space of moonlight, and we both looked at each other, knowing exactly what we were thinking. I could see from his eyes that he hadn't meant to let me know that he called her Helen.
We took the train at Waltham, and nothing else that he said was of the least importance.
II
I suppose henceforward I had better call her Helen. And, as a matter of fact, the first time I saw her after my return she asked me to do so. "Mrs. Severn," she said, sounded dreadfully stiff between friends. Perhaps it did, but I found it hard to break the habit.
I had met her one afternoon on the pavement outside University College. She asked me if I were just going up to see Terry, and I replied, with perhaps an implied rebuke: "Certainly not. Have you just been to see him?"
"Why 'certainly not'?"