ratic Snawley,
smiling suavely over a heap of letters and disordered MSS. He glanced at
the card which his ink-smeared attendant presented him.

"Ah, indeed!" he said condescendingly. "Lovelace--Lovelace? Oh yes--I
suppose it must be the novelist of that name--yes!--show him up."

Shown up he was accordingly. He entered the room with a firm tread, and
closed the door behind him!

"How do you do, my dear sir!" exclaimed Grubbs warmly. "You are well
known to me by reputation! I am charmed--delighted to make the personal
acquaintance of one who is--yes--let me say, who is a brother in
literature! Sit down, I beg of you!"

And he waved his hand towards a chair, thereby displaying the great
rings that glittered on his podgy fingers.

Beau, however, did not seat himself--he only smiled very coldly and
contemptuously.

"We can discuss the fraternal nature of our relationship afterwards," he
said satirically, "Business first. Pray, sir,"--here he drew from his
pocket the last number of the _Snake_--"are you the writer of this
paragraph?"

He pointed to it, as he flattened the journal and laid it in front of
the editor on the desk. Mr. Snawley-Grubbs glanced at it and smiled
unconcernedly.

"No I am not. But I happen to know it is perfectly correct. I received
the information on the highest--the very highest and most credible
authority."

"Indeed!" and Beau's lip curled haughtily, while his hand clenched the
riding-whip more firmly. "Then allow me to tell you, sir, that it is
utterly false in every particular--moreover--that it is a gross
libel,--published with deliberate intent to injure those whom it
presumes to mention,--and that, whoever wrote it,--you, sir, you alone
are responsible for a most mischievous, scandalous, and damnable lie!"

Mr. Grubbs was in no wise disconcerted. Honest indignation honestly
expressed, always amused him--he was amused now.

"You're unduly excited, Mr. Lovelace," he said with a little laugh.
"Permit me to remark that your language is rather extraordinary--quite
too strong under the circumstances! However, you're a privileged
person--genius is always a little mad, or shall we say,--eccentric?--I
suppose you are a friend of Sir Philip Errington, and you naturally feel
hurt--yes--yes, I quite understand! But the scourge of the press--the
wholesome, purifying scourge, cannot be withheld out of consideration
for private or personal feelings. No--no! There's a higher duty--the
duty we o