“I know that I said she wasn’t, but she explained, while I sat there rather mum, that there was really another girl, and that the other girl’s name was really Jerusha Brown. She was the daughter of the postmaster in the village where Miss Shirley was passing the summer. In fact, Miss Shirley was boarding in the postmaster’s family, and the girls had become very friendly. They were reading my story together, and talking about it, and trying to guess how it would come out, just as the letter said, and they simultaneously hit upon the notion of writing to me. It seemed to them that it would be a good joke--I’m not defending it, mother, and I must say Miss Shirley didn’t defend it, either--to work upon my feelings in the way they tried, and they didn’t realize what they had done till Armiger’s letter came. It almost drove them wild, she said; but they had a lucid interval, and they took the letter to the girl’s father and told him what they had done. He was awfully severe with them for their foolishness, and said they must write to Armiger at once and confess the fact. Then they said they had written already, and showed him the second letter, and explained they had decided to let Miss Brawn write it in her person alone for the reason she gave in it. But Miss Shirley told him she was ready to take her full share of the blame, and, if anything came of it, she authorized him to put the whole blame on her.” Verrian made a pause which his mother took for invitation or permission to ask, “And was he satisfied with that?” “I don’t know. I wasn’t, and it’s only just to Miss Shirley to say that she wasn’t, either. She didn’t try to justify it to me; she merely said she was so frightened that she couldn’t have done anything. She may have realized more than the Brown girl what they had done.” “The postmaster, did he regard it as anything worse than foolishness?” “I don’t believe he did. At any rate, he was satisfied with what his daughter had done in owning up.” “Well, I always liked that girl’s letter. And did they show him your letter?” “It seems that they did.” “And what did he say about that?” “I suppose, what I deserved. Miss Shirley wouldn’t say, explicitly. He wanted to answer it, but they wouldn’t let him. I don’t know but I should feel better if he had. I haven’t been proud of that letter of mine as time has gone on, mother; I think I behaved very narrow-mindedly, very personally in it.” “You behaved justly.” “Justly? I thought you had your doubts of that. At any rate, I had when it came to hearing the girl accusing herself as if she had been guilty of some monstrous wickedness, and I realized that I had made her feel so.” “She threw herself on your pity!” “No, she didn’t, mother. Don’t make it impossible for me to tell you just how it was.” “I won’t. Go on.” “I don’t say she was manly about it; that couldn’t be, but she was certainly not throwing herself on my pity, unless--unless--” “What?”