friend.

"Dear me, what do you expect of me!" he almost whimpered. "I'm not to
blame! The paragraph was inserted without my knowledge by my
sub-editor--he's away just now, and--there! why?" he cried with sudden
defiance, "why don't you ask Sir Francis Lennox about it? He wrote the
whole thing."

"Well, he's dead," said Miss Vere with the utmost coolness. "So it
wouldn't be much use asking _him_. HE can't answer,--you'll have to
answer for him."

"I don't believe it!" exclaimed Mr. Grubbs. "He can't be dead!"

"Oh, yes, he can, and he _is_," retorted Violet. "And a good job too! He
was knocked over by a train at Charing Cross. You'll see it in to-day's
paper, if you take the trouble to look. And mind you contradict all that
stuff about me in your next number--do you hear? I'm going to America
with a Duke next month, and I can't afford to have my reputation
injured. And I won't be called a 'dama' for any penny-a-liner living."
She paused, and again broke out laughing, "Poor old Snawley! You do look
so sore! Ta-ta!" And she moved towards the door. Lovelace, always
courteous, opened it for her. She raised her hard, bright eyes, and
smiled.

"Thanks! Hope I shall see you again some day!"

"You are very good!" responded Beau gravely.

Either his tone, which was one chill indifference, or some thing in his
look, irritated her suddenly--for a rash of hot color crimsoned her
face, and she bit her lips vexedly as she descended the office-stairs.

"He's one of your high-and-mighty sort," she thought disdainfully, as
she entered her cosy brougham and was driven away. "Quite too awfully
moral!" She pulled a large, elaborately cut glass scent-bottle out of
the pocket of her cloak, and, unscrewing the gold top, applied it, not
to her nose but her mouth. It contained neat Cognac--and she drank a
goodly gulp of it with evident relish, swallowing a scented bon-bon
immediately afterwards to take away the suspicious odor. "Yes--quite too
awfully moral!" she repeated with a grin. "Not in my line at all! Lord!
It's lucky there are not many such fellows about, or what would become
of _me_? A precious poor business I should make of it!"

Meanwhile, Lovelace, left alone again with Mr. Grubbs, reiterated his
demand for an apology. Grubbs made a rush for the door, as soon as Miss
Vere had gone, with the full intention of summoning the police, but Beau
coolly placed his back against it with resolute firmness, and flourished
his whip def