"It wasn't!" replied Didcott, briefly.
"What!" cried Miss Winder, her voice raised an octave.
"It was pure drivel," said Didcott, firmly.
Miss Winder sat down suddenly, and began to cry.
Didcott struck his forehead. "I am a brute!" he cried. "I am still a brute." He went on his knees and implored her to smile.
"You pretended you liked it," sobbed the girl.
"I know I did. I was a hypocrite; and now I am being punished."
"You have been laughing at me, all this time," said Miss Winder, wiping her eyes, and becoming dignified.
"No, no. Understand how I was situated. I have worked for years for the Didactic Weekly. My life's work is in it. I have struggled for it and brought it to success; it is part of my life. And then I was told I must publish your story. It would have made me the laughing stock of the journalistic world. It would have damaged if not ruined my paper. I couldn't bear it. I——"