These had not the trouble of defining themselves very
distinctly in the conversation in order to win his applause, and their
consideration did not carry him with Miss Shirley beyond the strictly
professional ground on which they met.
She had apparently invented nothing for that evening, and the house party
was left to its own resources in dancing and sitting out dances, which
apparently fully sufficed it. They were all tired, and broke up early.
The women took their candles and went off to bed, and the men went to the
billiard-room to smoke. On the way down from his room, where he had gone
to put on his smoking-jacket, Verrian met Miss Macroyd coming up, candle
in hand, and received from her a tacit intimation that he might stop her
for a joking good-night.
"I hope you'll sleep well on your laurels as umpire," he said.
"Oh, thank you," she returned, "and I hope your laurels won't keep you
awake. It must seem to you as if it was blowing a perfect gale in them."
"What do you mean? I did nothing."
"Oh, I don't mean your promotion of the snow battle. But haven't you
heard?" He stared. "You've been found out!"
"Found out?" Verrian's soul was filled with the joy of literary fame.
"Yes. You can't conceal yourself now. You're Verrian the actor.
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