“Then,” said William, hoarsely, “I will tell you. I am not going to that ball. The city editor is going to take the assignment himself, and I must go to a literary and artistic gathering, where there will be nothing but tea and recitations.” “Yes,” said Susan, bitterly, “and sandwiches so thin that they can be used to watch the eclipse of the sun. But what have you brought back with you now? I hope it is something nourishing.” “My darling,” replied William Swallowtail, in faltering tones, “I fear you are doomed to another disappointment. I have done my best to-night, but this is all I could get my hands on;” and with these words he drew from the pockets of his heavy woolen ulster a paper bag filled with wine jelly, a box of _marrons glacés_, and two pint bottles of champagne. “Is that all?” said Susan, reproachfully. “The children have had nothing to eat since yesterday morning except _pâtés de foie gras_, macaroons, and hothouse grapes. All day long they have been crying for corned-beef sandwiches, and I have had none to give them. You told me, William, when we parted in the early evening, that you were going to a house where there would be at least ham, and perhaps bottled beer, and now you return to me with this paltry package of jelly and that very sweet wine. I hope, William”--and a cold, hard look of suspicion crept into her face--“that you have not forgotten your vows and given to another--” “Susan!” cried William Swallowtail, “how can you speak or even think of such a thing, when you know full well that--” But Susan withdrew from his embrace, and asked in bitter, cold accents, “Was there ham at that reception or was there not?” “There was ham, and corned beef too. I will not deny it; but--” “Then, William, with what woman have you shared it?” demanded the young wife, drawing herself up to her full height, and fixing her dark, flashing eyes full upon him. “Susan, I implore you, listen to me, and do not judge me too harshly. There _was_ ham, but there were several German noblemen there too--Baron Sneeze of the Austrian legation, Count Pretzel, and a dozen more. The smell of meat inflamed them, and I fought my way through them in time to save only this from the wreck.” He drew from his ulster-pocket something done up in a piece of paper, and handed it to his wife. She opened the package and saw that it contained what looked like a long piece of very highly polished ivory. Then her face softened, her lips trembled, and her eyes brimmed over with tears. “Forgive me, William, for my unjust suspicions,” she exclaimed, as she threw herself once more into his arms. “This mute ham-bone tells me far more strongly than any words of yours could the story of the Society reporter’s awful struggle for life.” William kissed his young wife affectionately, and then sat down to the breakfast which she had prepared for him.