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Updated: May 5, 2025
She knew you were a writer." "Oh, indeed!" Verrian said. "I thought that if you were writing for the newspapers you might know how to help her-" "I'm not a newspaper writer," Verrian answered, with a resentment which she seemed to feel, for she said, with a sort of apology in her tone: "Oh! Well, I don't suppose it matters.
Verrian thought his fellow-guests were all amiable enough looking, though he made his reflection that they did not look, any of them, as if they would set the Sound on fire; and again he missed the companion of his arrival.
"Yours very respectfully, The editor's letter was dated the 6th of the month; the answer, dated the 8th, betrayed the anxious haste of the writer in replying, and it was not her fault if what she wrote came to Verrian when he was no longer able to do justice to her confession.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," Bushwick said. "I thought I had seen your name with that of a West Side concern." "No, I have a sort of outside connection with the publishing business." "Oh," Bushwick returned, politely, and it would have been reassuringly if Verrian had wished not to be known as an author.
Verrian seized upon it and then went into the waiting-room, where he had left his suit-case. He found the stranger there in parley with the young woman in the ticket-office about a conveyance to Mrs. Westangle's. It proved that he had secured not only the only thing of the sort, but the only present hope of any other, and in the hard case he could not hesitate with distress so interesting.
Verrian answered with light cynicism: "It will be tainted with the pain of the fellows who don't like me, or who haven't succeeded, and they'll take care to let me share their pain if ever they can. But if you mean that merry maiden up country, she's probably thinking, if she thinks about it at all, that she's the luckiest girl in the United States to have got out of an awful scrape so easily.
She laughed, but 'sotto voce', in bending her head close to his and whispering, "I hope she'll be equal to her 'mise en scene'. It's really very nice. So simple." Besides the gauze veil, there was no preparation except in the stretch of black drapery which hid the book-shelves at the farther wall of the library. "Mrs. Westangle's note is always simplicity," Verrian returned. "Oh yes, indeed!
"Come, Mr. Verrian," Miss Macroyd resumed, "what is the secret? I'll never tell if you tell me." "You won't if I don't." "Now you are becoming merely trivial. You are ceasing even to be provoking." Miss Macroyd, in token of her displeasure, laughed no longer. "Am I?" he questioned; thoughtfully. "Well, then, I am tempted to act upon impulse." "Oh, do act upon impulse for once," she urged.
She hesitated, and then she said, abruptly: "What I did to-day owed everything to you, Mr. Verrian," and while he desisted from searching the book-shelves, she stood looking anxiously at him, with the pulse in her neck visibly throbbing.
Verrian frowned blackly in his disgust, so blackly that Miss Macroyd laughed aloud. "Yes, the coming matinee idol. One of the girls recognized you as soon as you came into the house, and the name settled it, though, of course, you're supposed to be here incognito."
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