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Updated: June 12, 2025
Simply, then, for purposes of identification, as the phrase is, I must beg you to ask the pastor of your church, or, better still, your family physician, to write you a line saying that he knows you, as a sort of letter of introduction to me. Then I will send you the advance proofs of Mr. Verrian's story. You may like to address me personally in the care of the magazine, and not as the editor.
"And the house wants to publish the book. They think, down there, that it will have a very pretty success not be a big seller, of course, but something comfortable." Mrs. Verrian's eyes were suffused with pride and fondness. "And you can always think, Philip, that this has come to you without the least lowering of your standard, without forsaking your ideal for a moment."
"All is," he said, with finality, "I hope she'll never see that loathsome paragraph." "Oh, very likely she won't," his mother consoled him. Only four days after he had seen Armiger, Verrian received an envelope covering a brief note to himself from the editor, a copy of the letter he had written to Verrian's unknown correspondent, and her answer in the original.
The particular editor who took Verrian's serial, after it had come back to the author from the editors of the other leading periodicals, was in fact moved mainly by the belief that the story would please the better sort of his readers. These, if they were not so numerous as the worse, he felt had now and then the right to have their pleasure studied.
She excused herself with a delicacy which Verrian's correspondents by no means always showed for intruding upon him, and then pleaded the power his story had over her as the only shadow of right she had in addressing him. Its fascination, she said, had begun with the first number, the first chapter, almost the first paragraph.
Bushwick listened as mutely, with a face that, to Verrian's eye, seemed to harden from its light jocosity into a severity he had not seen in it before. "It was something," she ended towards Bushwick, with a catch in her breath, "that you had to know." "Yes," he answered, tonelessly. "And now" she attempted a little forlorn playfulness "don't you think he gave me what I deserved?"
But as Bushwick continued silently looking at him, the thing could not be left at this point, and he was obliged to ask of his own initiative, "How much do you know?" Bushwick leaned back in his chair, with his eyes still on Verrian's profile. "As much as Miss Macroyd could tell me."
"Say it again or differently." "Can our repentance undo it, or make the falsehood over into the truth?" "Never!" the ghost answered, with a passion that thrilled to Verrian's heart. "Oh, dear!" the girl said; and then, as if she had been going to continue, she stopped. "You've still got your half-question, Miss Andrews," Bushwick interposed.
In the details which they were able to give at luncheon, they did justice to Verrian's noble part in the whole affair, which had saved the day, not only in keeping them up to the work when they had got thinking it couldn't be carried through, but in giving the combat a validity which it would not have had without him. They had to thank him, next to Mrs.
And now the worst of it is to come yet." She caught Verrian's arm, as if for help. "Don't don't!" he besought her. "What will people think?" "Yes, Yes!" she owned, releasing him and withdrawing to the other end of the seat. "But it almost drives me wild. What shall I do? You ought to know. It is your fault. You have frightened me out of daring to tell the truth." Had he, indeed, done that?
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