“How was that, Dr. Latham?”
“Can’t say in the least; but I didn’t. And—now—well—tell me.”
“It’s about something you once said.”
He wondered if it were something he had said about Angela Hilary. He hoped not. He had said some very foolish things—but that was long ago—before he really knew that radiant woman. “Something I once said?” he echoed a little anxiously.
Helen nodded.
“I am afraid I don’t remember. What was it?”
“That night that——” But she choked at the words. For a moment she could not speak. Latham gave her time. He was used to giving people time—and especially women. Presently she went on, finding another way to put it—“That last night—when you spoke of the dead coming back. You said that if two people loved each other very dearly, and one was left behind and needed the one who had gone, he would come back.”
“I said he might try,” Latham corrected her gently.
“You were right.”
“What do you mean?” The man was half amused, half startled, but the physician was anxious.