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Updated: May 5, 2025
"I believe that's all," she said, sharply. She added, less sharply: "She couldn't afford to fail, though, at any point. The fad that fails is extinguished forever. Will these simple facts do for fiction? Or is it for somebody in real life you're asking, Mr. Verrian?" "Oh, for fiction. And thank you very much. Oh, that's rather pretty!"
She must have liked your looks!" Again Miss Macroyd laughed. "On that side I'm invulnerable. It's only a literary vanity to be soothed or to be wounded that I have," Verrian said. "Oh, there wouldn't be anything personal in her liking your looks.
"I shall send you a little note; I won't let you forget," she said. Then she suddenly shook hands with the ladies of the house and was flashingly gone. Verrian thought he might ask the daughter of the house, "And if I don't forget, am I engaged to spend Christmas week with her?" The girl laughed. "If she doesn't forget, you are. But you'll have a good time. She'll know how to manage that."
When she could check it she explained: "Now we are not even acquainted, and I can thank a stranger for the kindness you have shown me. I am truly grateful. Will you do me another favor?" "Yes," Verrian assented; but he thought he had a right to ask, as though he had not promised, "What is it?" "Not to speak of me to Mrs. Westangle unless she speaks of me first." "That's simple.
"The missiles of the assailants are to be very soft snowballs, hardly more than mere clots, so that nobody can be hurt in the assault, but the defenders may repel the assailants with harder snowballs." "Oh," Miss Macroyd protested, "this is consulting the weakness of our sex." "In the fury of the onset we'll forget it," Verrian reassured her. "Do you think you really will, Mr. Verrian?" she asked.
She bent towards him in such anxious demand that he could not help smiling. "The whole thing was a pretence, wasn't it?" he suggested. "Yes, but that would have been a pretence that we didn't know of." "It would be incriminating to that extent, certainly," Verrian owned, ironically.
It appeared that in one point he did her injustice, for when he went up to dress for dinner after the long stroll he took towards night he found a note under his door, by which he must infer that Mrs. Westangle had not kept the real facts of her triumph from the mistress of the revels. "DEAR MR. VERRIAN, I am not likely to see you, but I must thank you. "P. S. Don't try to answer, please."
"Did she say that she grabbed the whole victoria for herself and maid at the station?" Verrian demanded, in a burst of rage, "and left us to get here the best way we could?" Bushwick grinned. "She supposed there were other carriages, and when she found there weren't she hurried the victoria back for you." "You think she believes all that?
I haven't seen the histrionic Verrian yet." They were laughing when the curtain rose, and the histrionic Verrian had his innings for a long, long first act. When the curtain fell she turned to the literary Verrian and said, "Well?" "He lasted a good while," Verrian returned. "Yes. Didn't he?" She looked at the little watch in her wristlet. "A whole hour! Do you know, Mr.
Westangle herself, whom they praised beyond any articulate expression, for thinking up such a delightful thing. They wondered how she could ever have thought of it such a simple thing too; and they were sure that when people heard of it they would all be wanting to have snow battles. Mrs. Westangle took her praises as passively, if not as modestly, as Verrian received his.
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