When Ouida returned from her drive through Central Park, she found in waiting, Olivia Winters, special writer for the Daily Tattler. Now, Miss Winters was one of the most brilliant women of the New York press. She it was whom the World had sent to be knocked down by a moving car, so that the new style fenders might be properly described. The girl had also taken a balloon ascension, and written it up for her paper. She at one time spent three months as an inmate of a mad house, and as a result, had written such an exposure of the methods of the place, that the State Legislature had passed a new law for the government of such institutions. One of the girl’s crowning achievements, however, had been to interview the President of the United States at a time and upon a subject upon which other writers had tried, in vain, to get an expression of opinion. The only thing she had ever failed in, was in getting Ouida to talk, nor did she ever press the great artist, for she really liked her. Ouida had told her many things, but had always requested her to refrain from using them in the paper, and Olivia had always respected the confidence reposed in her, by keeping her word. No true writer will ever break faith under similar circumstances. Ouida did not keep her visitor long in waiting. A rap at the door was heard, and upon being bid, Olivia Winters entered the apartments of Ouida. “Ah,” said the sculptress, “I am indeed glad to see you.” “That gives me hope,” said the writer. “Of what?” exclaimed Ouida. “That you will break the silence you have maintained for years.” “Ah, dear girl, there you, no matter how delicately, have approached forbidden ground.” “Have I offended you?” said Miss Winters. “No,” replied Ouida, “if any one could have probed the mystery of my life, it would have been you.” “I thank you at least for that slight evidence of your confidence and esteem--” “But,” said Ouida, interrupting, “I have taken Disraeli’s advice.” “And pray, what was that?” inquired Olivia. “A young man, ambitious to succeed in public life, approached the great English statesman, and said: ‘Mr. Disraeli, to what one great thing do you attribute your success in public life?’ The wonderful Englishman grew thoughtful for a moment, and said: ‘Well, sir, when I started out in public life, I resolved never to reply to what the newspapers might say about me.’ ‘Good,’ said the young man, ‘I will follow your advice,’ and he started to depart. ‘Hold! young man,’ cried Mr. Disraeli, ‘let me finish my story.’ Continuing, he said: ‘But on one occasion the London Telegraph came out with an accusation against me of so monstrous a character, that I felt constrained to deny it. And what do you suppose the damned rascally newspaper editor did? Why, he proved it.’” Both women laughed merrily over the tale, which the Winters woman declared was in Ouida’s usually happy and clever vein. “But, my dear Ouida, I came to see what you had to say about Nugent’s sermon.”