‘I grant you it is horrible,’ said Crieff, ‘but what does it mean?’ ‘Cannot you see? It is an infernal plot to ruin an unhappy woman.’ ‘There is no doubt as to whom it points?’ ‘None.’ ‘Diana Vere was her stage name, you see? But is there any truth--------’ ‘Truth? Do you expect it from these vermin? Their end is calumny, torture their delight. If I were only her brother--even her friend!’ ‘Eh, what would you do?’ ‘Thrash this devil within an inch of his life!’ ‘And if you did, he would only thank you for an excellent advertisement. That’s the worst of it; he _lives_ on recriminations. I’m really very sorry; for Lagardère, I have always held, has his good points. He has really a kind heart, as has been repeatedly shown by his generosity to the sick and suffering. He got up that idea of supplying old toys to the sick children in the hospitals, and I know for a fact that he kept Potts Peters, the dramatist, from starvation. I don’t think he realises the mischief he does. He calls it “plain speaking,” another name for calumny.’ ‘Damn him!’ said Sutherland between his set teeth. ‘With all my heart, but I’ll pity him too; for one act of true kindness atones for many sins of judgment. But I haven’t shown you all. The wasps are all at it. Look at this in the “Whirligig.”’ He handed another journal to Sutherland, who took it with trembling hands, and, glancing down a number of paragraphs similar to those in the ‘Plain Speaker,’ came upon the following:-- ‘My dear Hubert, why will you pretend to omniscience? You are all very well when you are telling us of your escapades in Russia, and your sad experiences of theatrical mismanagement in St. Mary Axe, but you should really try to be correct in your classical gossip. Diana never bolted with a music master, and she was never at Brussels. The affair to which you allude took place at Rouen, and the gentleman was a teacher of languages. Try again, Hubert.’ After a few general paragraphs, one of which accused a certain royal personage of having a _liaison_ with his cook, came another piece of mysterious gossip:-- ‘If it is to become a _cause célèbre_, no one will regret it more than myself; though I shall rejoice, too, if it brings the peccant fair one back to the stage. I am sorry for the husband, but it is really his own fault. A person so well known as an Art connoisseur ought to have seen at a glance that the picture was damaged--_before he bought it_.’ The italics were the writer’s. Livid with horror and indignation, Sutherland held the newspaper to Crieff. ‘Who--who wrote this?’ he cried. ‘Yahoo, I suspect--the editor of the “Whirligig.”’ ‘Who and what is he?’ ‘Edgar Yahoo, the last descendant of the race of the Yahoos, for the history of which see Swift’s “Gulliver”; the only difference being that this Yahoo no longer waits upon the nobler animal, but delights in airing himself upon its back.’ ‘Explain!’