My hand went to his arm. What I had meant to say I do not know, for Bee at that moment entered the room. A girl of twenty-four. Tall, slim and graceful.
She was dressed now in a clinging negligee which seemed to accentuate the slim grace of her. But the marks of illness were plain upon her face; a pallor; her eyes, though they smiled at me with the smile of greeting upon her lips, had the light of fear in them; her hand as I took it was chill, and its fingers felt thin and wan.
"Bee!"
"It's good to see you, Rob. Will has been apologizing for us, I suppose—"
These friends of mine calling me to them in their hour of need. I had been annoyed, hurt; I had not realized how deep was my affection for them ... for Bee.... Vaguely I wondered now if their trouble—this fear that lay so obviously upon them both—concerned the coming of the ghosts....
Bee sat close beside me, as though by my nearness she felt a measure of protection.
Will faced us. For a moment he was silent. Then he began, "I have a good deal to say, Rob—I want to be brief—"
I interrupted impulsively, "Just tell me this. Does it, this thing, whatever it is—does it concern the ghosts?"
I was aware of a shudder that ran over Bee. Will did not move. "Yes," he said. "It does. And these ghosts have changed. We knew they would—we've been expecting it."