“Thank you,” Verrian said. “I might forget the Thursdays, but I couldn’t forget all the days of the week.”
Miss Andrews laughed and blushed at once. “Then we shall expect you every day.”
“Well, every day but Thursday,” he promised.
When the mother and daughter had gone Mrs. Verrian said, “She is a great admirer of yours, Philip. She’s read your story, and I suspect she wants an opportunity to talk with you about it.”
“You mean Mrs. Andrews?”
“Yes. I suppose the daughter hasn’t waited for an opportunity. The mother had read that publisher’s paragraph about your invalid, and wanted to know if you had ever heard from her again. Women are personal in their literary interests.”
Philip asked, in dismay, “You didn’t give it away did you, mother?”
“Certainly not, my dear. You have brought me up too carefully.”
“Of course. I didn’t imagine you had.”
Then, as they could not pretend to look at the pictures any longer, they went away, too. Their issue into the open air seemed fraught with novel emotion for Mrs. Verrian. “Well, now,” she said, “I have seen the woman I would be willing my son should marry.”