"Cash?" cried out the mercenary little wretch.
"Yes, cash," said the delighted father, and he forthwith went into the safe and brought a roll of bank notes, which he gave to Marie.
"Do you desire a receipt for this," she said, with a smile.
"No," said Mr. Salmon, "but you might tell your old dad what you are going to do with so much money."
"No, I cannot do that," she replied, with assumed fear.
"Going to waste it on your staff of paupers?"
"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
