His mother smiled. “You mustn’t let prosperity corrupt you, Philip. Wouldn’t seeing what the press is saying of it distract you from the real aim you had in your story?”
“We’re all weak, of course. It might, if the story were not finished; but as it is, I think I could be proof against the stupidest praise.”
“Well, for my part, I’m glad you didn’t subscribe to the clippings bureau. It would have been a disturbing element.” She now looked down at the letters as if she were going to take them up, and he followed the direction of her eyes. As if reminded of the fact by this, he said:
“Armiger asked me if I had ever heard anything more from that girl.”
“Has he?” his mother eagerly asked, transferring her glance from the letters to her son’s face.
“Not a word. I think I silenced her thoroughly.”
“Yes,” his mother said. “There could have been no good object in prolonging the affair and letting her confirm herself in the notion that she was of sufficient importance either to you or to him for you to continue the correspondence with her. She couldn’t learn too distinctly that she had done—a very wrong thing in trying to play such a trick on you.”
“That was the way I looked at it,” Verrian said, but he drew a light sigh, rather wearily.
“I hope,” his mother said, with a recurrent glance at the letters, “that there is nothing of that silly kind among these.”
“No, these are blameless enough, unless they are to be blamed for being too flattering. That girl seems to be sole of her kind, unless the girl that she ‘got together with’ was really like her.”