efore heard the "Oxford voice."

"I am very sorry," he said, "but 'Aunt Kate' is not here to-day.
Perhaps--is there anything I could do?"

"No, thank you," said Kitty, wishing herself miles away; the tobacco
smoke choked her, the backs of the two other men seemed an outrage. She
turned away with a haughty bow, and went down the grimy stairs full of
fury. She could have slapped herself. How could she have been such a
fool as to come there? There were feet coming down the stair behind
her--she quickened her pace. The feet came more quickly. She stopped on
the landing and turned with an odd feeling of being at bay. It was the
fair-haired young man with the Oxford voice.

"I am so very sorry," he said gently, "but I did not know. I did not
expect to see--I mean, I did not know who you were. And we had all been
smoking--I am so sorry," he said again, rather lamely.

"It doesn't matter," said Kitty, more shyly than she had ever spoken in
her life. She liked his eyes and his voice as much as she loathed the
expressive backs of his two companions.

"If you could come again: perhaps Aunt Kate will be here on Thursday. I
know she will be sorry to miss you," the young man went on.

"I think I won't call again, thank you," said Kitty. "I--I'll write,
thank you; it is all right. I oughtn't to have come. Good-bye."

There was nothing for it but to stand back and let her pass. The editor
went back slowly to his room. His friends had relighted their pipes.

"Appeased the outraged goddess?" asked one of them.

"Good old Aunt Kate!" said the other.

"Shut up, Sellars!" said the editor, frowning.

"Now, which of your correspondents is it?" pondered Sellars, ruffling
the bundle of papers in his hand. "Is it 'Wild Woodbine,' who wants to
know what will make her hands white? Chilcott, did you see her hands? Oh
no, of course--_bien chaussee, bien gantee_. All brown, too. Is it
'Sylph'?--no; she wants a pattern for a Zouave. What is a Zouave, if you
please, Mr Editor?"

"Dry up!" said the editor, but Sellars was busy with the papers.

"Eureka! I know her. She's 'Nut-brown Maid'--here's the letter--wants to
know if she may talk to 'a young gentleman she has not been properly
introduced to'--spells it 'interoduced,' too----"

The editor snatched the papers out of the other's hands.

"Now clear out," said he; "I'm busy."

"Am I dreaming?" said Sellars pensively; "or is this the editor who
invited us to collaborate with him in hi