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One day shortly after Ouida and Nugent had taken up their residence in the slums, Mr. Connors, who had now become a power in directing the political destinies of the country, met Mr. Doane, the editor, in the vicinity of Ouida's home.

"This is a queer place," said Doane. "It rather surprises me to see you here."

"Not more so than I am to see you in such a locality," said Mr. Connors.

"Oh, we newspaper men go everywhere."

"And we politicians, too; but honestly, what are you doing here?"

"Well," said Doane, rubbing his hands in grim satisfaction, "I don't mind telling you; a little private vengeance."

"Upon whom?" queried Connors.

"Ouida Angelo. You were present when I received that insulting blow on her account?"

"Yes, and by heavens, you brought it on yourself."

"Never mind that," said the editor. "I feel the sting yet, and while I cannot pay her back in kind, I can twist and probe her pride, and I'll do it, too. She lives in that miserable hovel over there," pointing to the place. "I am going to visit her."

"You astound me," said Connors. He himself was