'Didn't you now?' he rejoined complacently, 'and yet it got copied into some of the London papers, too, I was told. Well, I brought a cutting with me, in case--would you like to hear it?' Mabel made some assent--she always felt more or less paralysed in the presence of this terrible relative--and he drew out a folded slip, put on his spectacles, and proceeded to read:-- '"To the Editor.--Sir--I write you for the purpose of putting you right with respect to a point on which you seem to have got hold of an unaccurate version of a matter which I may say I have some slight connection with. In your issue of the ----th inst., I note that your London letter prints the following paragraph: '"_Society here is eagerly anticipating the coming performance, at one of the most recherche mansions in Belgravia, of a dramatic version of Mrs. Ashburn (nee Ernstone's) celebrated romance of 'Illusion.' I have been favoured with an opportunity of assisting at some of the rehearsals, and am in a position to state that the representation cannot fail to satisfy even the most ardent of the many admirers of the book. The guests will include all the leaders of every phase of the beau monde, and a repetition of the play will probably be found necessary. By the way, it is a somewhat romantic circumstance, that the talent displayed by the young authoress has already been the means of procuring her a brilliant parti, which will remove all necessity for any reliance upon her pen for a subsistence in the future._ '"Now, sir, allow me to correct two glaring errors in the above. To start with, the author of "Illusion" is not an authoress at all--his real name being Mark Ashburn, as I ought to know, considering I happen to occupy the position of being his uncle. Next, it is quite true that my nephew has contracted a matrimonial alliance, which some might call brilliant; but I was not aware till the present that the party brought him enough to allow him to live independent for the rest of his life, being under the impression that there would have been no match of any sort if it had not been for a near relative (who shall be nameless here) on the author's side coming forward and offering to make things comfortable for the young couple. But he will have to rely on his pen for all that, as he is quite aware that he is not expected to lay on his oars, without doing anything more to repay the sacrifices that have been wasted on him. Kindly correct, and oblige yours, '"SOLOMON LIGHTOWLER (the author's uncle)."' 'You know,' he observed when he came to the end, 'it doesn't do to let these sort o' stories go flying about without contradicting them--but I put it very quietly and delicately, you see.' Mabel bit her lip. Was it possible that this dreadful old man knew nothing--how was she ever to break it to him?