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Updated: May 5, 2025
Armiger wrote: "MY DEAR VERRIAN, I enclose two exhibits which will possess you of all the facts in the case of the young lady who feared she might die before she read the end of your story, but who, you will be glad to find, is likely to live through the year. As the story ends in our October number, she need not be supplied with advance sheets.
On the way down from his room, where he had gone to put on his smoking-jacket, Verrian met Miss Macroyd coming up, candle in hand, and received from her a tacit intimation that he might stop her for a joking good-night. "I hope you'll sleep well on your laurels as umpire," he said. "Oh, thank you," she returned, "and I hope your laurels won't keep you awake.
She was sure of nothing but the attention paid him in a certain very goodish house, by people whom she heard talking in unintelligible but unmistakable praise, when she said, casually, with a liquid glitter of her sweet, small eyes, "I wish you would come down to my place, Mr. Verrian. I'm asking a few young people for Christmas week. Will you?"
It would be merely deciding that personally you would do," Miss Macroyd laughed, as always, and Verrian put on a mock seriousness in asking: "Then I needn't be serious if there should happen to be anything so Westangular as a Mr. Westangle?" "Not the least in the world." "But there is something?" "Oh, I believe so. But not probably at Seasands." "Is that her house?" "Yes.
Verrian saying what I did, and asking to see the rest of his story on the impulse of the moment. I had been reading it, for I think it is perfectly fascinating; and a friend of mine, another girl, and I got together trying to guess how he would end it, and we began to dare each other to write to him and ask.
Verrian himself had no question of the genuineness of the letter in any respect; his mother, after her first misgivings, which were perhaps sensations, thought as he did about it. She said the story dealt so profoundly with the deepest things that it was no wonder a person, standing like that girl between life and death, should wish to know how the author solved its problem.
"I am sure it will," Verrian said, but a glance at the gray sky did not confirm him in his prophetic venture. The snow was sodden under foot; a breath from the south stirred the pines to an Aeolian response and moved the stiff, dry leaves of the scrub-oaks.
And I stipulated that she should tell Jerusha Brown all about it, and keep her from having a nervous fever, too." "That was right. You must see that even cowardice couldn't excuse her selfishness in letting that girl take all the chances." "And I'm afraid I was not very unselfish myself in my stipulations," Verrian said, with another laugh.
When it came to their parting, through Mrs. Andrews's saying that she must be going, she shook hands with Mrs. Verrian and said to Philip, "I am so glad to have met you, Mr. Verrian. Will you come and see us?" "Yes, thank you," he answered, taking the hand she now offered him, and then taking Miss Andrews's hand, while the girl's eyes glowed with pleasure. "I shall be very glad."
She had been surprisingly frank, and yet, at heart, Verrian would have thought she was a very reticent person or a secret person that is, mentally frank and sentimentally secret; possibly she was like most women in that.
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