Then he too sat again, and there was
silence for a moment.
"Why, you're not smoking," she said.
"I forgot. I will now, if you don't mind!"
She saw his fingers tremble a little as he put out his hand to a box
of cigarettes at his side. But he put the book down, after looking at
the page.
She could keep her question in no longer.
"What do you think of that," she said, nodding at the book.
He filled his lungs with smoke and exhaled again slowly.
"I think it's extraordinary," he said shortly.
"In what way?"
Again he paused before answering. Then he answered deliberately.
"If human evidence is worth anything, those things happen," he said.
"What things?"
"The dead return."
Maggie looked at him, aware of his deliberate attempt at dramatic
brevity. He was watching the end of his cigarette with elaborate
attention, and his face had that white, rather determined look that
she had seen on it once or twice before, in the presence of a domestic
crisis.
"Do you really mean you believe that?" she said, with a touch of
careful bitterness in her voice.
"I do," he said, "or else--"
"Well?"
"Or else human evidence is worth nothing at all."
Maggie understood him perfectly; but she realized that this was not an
occasion to force issues.
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