“You refuse my aid?” said Doane.
“It was not sought; we will not accept it,” said Nugent. “We prefer starvation to your pity.”
“Then,” said Doane, “let it not be pity, but a pure matter of business.”
“We desire none with you,” said Ouida. “This lodging is poor, but it is our own. Go, vent your spleen where it may be felt. We are beyond it. We have passed through the vale of agony. No shaft of scorn or ridicule can wound us more. Leave us, we would breathe the untainted air.”
And as Doane went away from the presence of his intended victims, it crept through his narrow brain, that he had not accomplished much.
“I could not pierce the armor of their pride and devotion. I am an ass,” said Doane to himself, and the next day’s editorials were permeated with great bitterness.
CHAPTER XXII. OUIDA’S WELCOME VISITORS.
Mr. Connors, while awaiting Doane’s departure from the house of Ouida, happened, accidentally, to brush into Olivia Winters.