“I wonder,” said Trix reflectively, “how they manage to see everything, and look as if they saw nothing. When I see things it’s perfectly obvious to everyone else I am seeing them. I—I look.”
“So do most people,” returned Nicholas.
When, some half-hour later, Trix rose to take leave, Nicholas again held out his hand. “I believe I’d ask you to come and pay me another visit,” he said, “but it would be wiser not. It is not easy for—er, dead men to receive visitors.”
“I wish you hadn’t—died,” said Trix impulsively.
“Do you mean that?” asked Nicholas curiously.
Trix nodded. There was an odd lump in her throat, a lump that for the moment prevented her from speaking.
“You’re a queer child,” smiled Nicholas.
The tears welled up suddenly in Trix’s eyes.
“It’s so lonely,” she said, with a half-sob.