"What? Spirit letters? Through some cheap fraud of a medium?"
"Oh, no! Direct."
"Do you believe they'd reach you, my letters?" he asked sadly.
"Not the letters themselves, certainly. I don't know that I actually believe anything about it. But what is in the letters might sift through to me in some way we don't understand. It might, Bob," she pleaded. "I've heard of strange cases. And, anyway, I should think you'd like to write, in case you miss me."
"Miss you!" he repeated hoarsely. "Yes; I'll miss you."
"Then wouldn't you give up just a little, tiny time to writing me?" she cajoled. "Just a promise to please silly me. After I'm dead you needn't keep it, you know, if you don't believe that I'll know."
"Any promise I made you I'd keep, living or dead. What would I do with the letters if I did write?"
"You know the built-in desk-safe in my room? You could put them there. You'll have the combination, for you're to be executor of my will. There's a large drawer at the bottom.... Of course it's all foolishness. But—won't you?"
"You know I'll do anything you ask."