And this was the letter that came by the first post on Monday. * * * * * "MY POOR PRESIDENT: "We have lost Sybil. She takes in the _Hurrygraph_ and reads the agony column religiously. So all the week she has been exposed to a terrible bombardment. "As thus (Tuesday.) 'My lost darling. A thousand demons are knocking at my door. Say you forgive me or I will let them in.--BOBO.' "Or thus. (Wednesday.) 'My lost darling. You are making a terrible mistake. I am innocent. I am writing this on my bended knees. The fathers have eaten a sour grape. Misericordia.--BOBO.' "The bitter cry of the outcast lover increased daily in intensity, till on Saturday it became delirious. "'My lost darling. Save, O Save! I have opened the door. They are there--in their thousands. The children's teeth are set on edge. The grave is dug. Betwixt two worlds I fall to the ground. Adieu forever.--BOBO.' "Will you believe that the poor little fool thought all this was meant for her, and that in consequence she thawed day by day till on Saturday she melted entirely and gushed on Guy's shoulder? Guy admitted that he had inserted these advertisements, but he did not tell her (as he afterwards told me in confidence, and as I now tell you in confidence) that they had been sent in before the quarrel occurred and constituted his Agony Column romance for the week, the Popsy Wopsy romance not being intended for publication till next week. He had concocted these cries of despairing passion without the least idea they would so nearly cover his own case. But he says that as his hereditary craze got him into the scrape, it was only fair his hereditary craze should get him out of it. "So that's the end of Sybil Hotspur. But let us not lament her too much. One so frail and fickle was not of the stuff of which Old Maids are made. Courage! Wee Winnie is on the warpath. "Yours affectionately, "NELLY." CHAPTER XVI. THE CLUB BECOMES POPULAR. The influence of Wee Winnie on the war-path was soon apparent. On the following Wednesday morning the ante-room of the Club was as crowded with candidates as if Lillie had advertised for a clerk with three tongues at ten pounds a year. Silverdale had gone down to Fleet Street to inquire if anything had been heard of Miss Ellaline Rand's projected paper, and Lillie grappled with the applicants single-handed. Turple the magnificent, was told to usher them into the confessional one by one, but the first two candidates insisted that they were one, and as he could not tell which one he gave way.