Of course, one could take
another view of it. One could say to one's self that she was really so
fervently grateful that she could not trust some accident to bring them
together in a place where she was merely a part of the catering, as she
said, and he was a guest, and that she was excusable, or at least
mercifully explicable, in her wish to have him know that she appreciated
his goodness. Verrian had been very good, he knew that; he had saved the
day for the poor thing when it was in danger of the dreariest kind of
slump. She was a poor thing, as any woman was who had to make her own
way, and she had been sick and was charming. Besides, she had found out
his name and had probably recognized a quality of celebrity in it,
unknown to the other young people with whom he found himself so strangely
assorted under Mrs. Westangle's roof.
In the end, and upon the whole, Verrian would rather have liked, if the
thing could have been made to happen, meeting Miss Shirley long enough to
disclaim meriting her thanks, and to ascribe to the intrinsic value of
her scheme the brilliant success it had achieved. This would not have
been true, but it would have been encouraging to her; and in the revery
which followed upon his conditional desire he had a long imaginary
conversation with her, and discussed all her other plans for the revels
of the week.
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