When she woke again it was morning for she had been sore tired by all the events and had slept round the clock twice. Beneath her lace-veiled window the voice of many newsboys cried a name she seemed to know, so slipping from her bed she flew to have a peep into the street, and hanging well out she saw oh with what glee and pride writ large on every plachard held before the stomaches of the newsboys these words: HOW I DID IT: By H. Withersquash (Head Poet) Now was Selia indeed moved to pride, and wept a tear into the window-sill to think how dearly she loved him and how high she had to rise yet before worthy to sit beside him as wife and matron. So she crossed her little fingers and wished hard that she might soon get a good leg up through her good friends the Majpottels, after which she slided out of her clothes and things and had a nice wash in the basin all over altho not knowing that such is corect nature taught her it was best so every day. And while doing up her hair she practiced talking in the new voice and warking with ease in the new thin shoes, and so with a last dab of powder from a pretty little glass pot on her dress-table, she popped downt to breakfast very spry and determined to win. And throughout London newsboys shouted the fame of Mr. Withersquash. CHAPTER EIGHT Mr. Withersq was already digging at the last of his second egg with rather a cross face, as he really preferred duck’s eggs as being more sustaining, when she entered their private eating apartment at whose door stood a chef sent to watch over their food by the hotel manager. “Hello dearie” cried he rising and casting the gloom off his face, as he had learnt to rise for ladys by now. “We have a treat in store for to-day.” And he nodded to the chef to bring Selia her breakfast, which the good man with his white hat did and then retired out of the room. “Oh Harold what is it?” she cried settling her new brown gown, “is it a better kind of party?” “Well hardly” said Mr. Withersq resuming his egg, “it is to go to a trial.” “Oh! How delishus” said Selia in glee, “is it a murder?” “No” said Mr. Withersq, “it is much better, it is a divorce, murders being a little vulgar. But the very cream go to divorces, and were it not for my having this morning before you rose purchaced a good half of the _Daily Pull_ and put the editor in my pocket I do not think even we should have got in.” “Oh so now you have a newspaper” chirped his love. “Yes” said Mr. Withersq hortily “and as it is we have seats in the front.” Truly pleased by this thoughtful and lucky idea Selia fell to and despatched her food after which they stepped into a taxi and rode to the law court.