“No.”
“New dress?”
“No.”
“Pray, what then?”
“Going to buy Milton a birthday present,” as in a mocking fit of laughter she skipped through the door and vanished from the office.
“The little devil has tricked me,” he said, but there was no anger in his tone.
CHAPTER VII. OUIDA WILL NOT BE INTERVIEWED.
When Ouida returned from her drive through Central Park, she found in waiting, Olivia Winters, special writer for the Daily Tattler. Now, Miss Winters was one of the most brilliant women of the New York press. She it was whom the World had sent to be knocked down by a moving car, so that the new style fenders might be properly described. The girl had also taken a balloon ascension, and written it up for her paper. She at one time spent three months as an inmate of a mad house, and as a result, had written such an exposure of the methods of the place, that the State Legislature had passed a new law for the government of such institutions. One of the girl’s crowning achievements, however, had been to interview the President of the United States at a time and upon a subject upon which other writers had tried, in vain, to get an expression of opinion. The only thing she had ever failed in, was in getting Ouida to talk, nor did she ever press the great artist, for she really liked her. Ouida had told her many things, but had always requested her to refrain from using them in the paper, and Olivia had always respected the confidence reposed in her, by keeping her word. No true writer will ever break faith under similar circumstances.
Ouida did not keep her visitor long in waiting. A rap at the door was heard, and upon being bid, Olivia Winters entered the apartments of Ouida.