One minute,--it seemed forever,--then he came in with his coat, and with a look which tried to be comical, but was, oh, so sad! he pointed at the long swirl of spermaceti which ran from one end of it to the other. Then he bent over the poor crying girl and kissed her, and kissed her again. "How can you, Edward? I am so wicked--and such a fool!" "Darling, you are not wicked at all, and it is I who am the fool." "Dear Edward, hear me. I was perfectly happy till they came--" "Sweetheart, you need not say so." "Edward, hear me; read what they write to me. Read this. Read where they say you are a forger and a counterfeiter, a detective and a gambler." "Really," said Edward, as he read, "they compliment me. The New York 'Observer' could not treat a man worse." Psyche was amazed, and she saw that Edward was more amused than angry. "Dear Edward, I am a fool. But I could not bear that Bloody Mary should know more of my own boy than I did." "No, my darling," said he stoutly; "and there is no reason why you should. But hear that bell! Ellen is crazy that we shall come to breakfast. Finish your hair. I will find another coat; and at breakfast, as Miss Braddon says, I will tell you _all_." * * * * * And at breakfast he told her all. It was so little to tell that I am ashamed to have wasted ten thousand words without relieving the reader's anxiety. As soon as Ellen had attended to the table and left the room, Edward said, "Dearest, all is that I am a greater fool than Clarence Hervey himself. I am the leading editor of the 'Daily Argus.' That is all." Psyche fairly laid down her fork. "What a fool I am! I have read things I told you myself in the paper, yet I never dreamed that you put them there. But why keep such a secret from your poor little butterfly?"