Verrian was aware how deeply and absorbingly he had brooded upon the incident which he had done his utmost to close, when he found himself expecting an answer of some sort from his unknown correspondent.  He perceived, then, without owning the fact, that he had really hoped for some protest, some excuse, some extenuation, which in the end would suffer him to be more merciful.  Though he had wished to crush her into silence, and to forbid her all hope of his forgiveness, he had, in a manner, not meant to do it.  He had kept a secret place in his soul where the sinner against him could find refuge from his justice, and when this sanctuary remained unattempted he found himself with a regret that he had barred the way to it so effectually.  The regret was so vague, so formless, however, that he could tacitly deny it to himself at all times, and explicitly deny it to his mother at such times as her touch taught him that it was tangible.

One day, after ten or twelve days had gone by, she asked him, “You haven’t heard anything more from that girl?”

“What girl?” he returned, as if he did not know; and he frowned.  “You mean the girl that wrote me about my story?”

He continued to frown rather more darkly.  “I don’t see how you could expect me to hear from her, after what I wrote.  But, to be categorical, I haven’t, mother.”

“Oh, of course not.  Did you think she would be so easily silenced?”

“I did what I could to crush her into silence.”

“Yes, and you did quite right; I am more and more convinced of that.  But such a very tough young person might have refused to stay crushed.  She might very naturally have got herself into shape again and smoothed out the creases, at least so far to try some further defence.”

“It seems that she hasn’t,” Verrian said, still darkly, but not so frowningly.

“I should have fancied,” his mother suggested, “that if she had wanted to open a correspondence with you—­if that was her original object—­she would not have let it drop so easily.”

“Has she let it drop easily?  I thought I had left her no possible chance of resuming it.”

“That is true,” his mother said, and for the time she said no more about the matter.

Not long after this he came home from the magazine office and reported to her from Armiger that the story was catching on more and more with the best class of readers.  The editor had shown Verrian some references to it in newspapers of good standing and several letters about it.

“I thought you might like to look at the letters,” Verrian said, and he took some letters from his pocket and handed them to her across the lunch-table.  She did not immediately look at them, because he went on to add something that they both felt to be more important.  “Armiger says there has been some increase of the sales, which I can attribute to my story if I have the cheek.”

“That is good.”