“How are you, Walter,” said Mr. Lewis, extending his hand; “fine day; how goes the world with you? They say you are a man who dares to ‘hew to the line, let the chips fly in whose face they will.’ Now, I want you to tell me if ‘Floy’ is really a sister of Hyacinth Ellet, the editor of ‘The Irving Magazine.’ I cannot believe it, though he boasted of it to me the other day, I hear such accounts of her struggles and her poverty. I cannot see into it.”

“It is very easily understood,” said Mr. Walter, with a dark frown on his face; “Mr. Hyacinth Ellet has always had one hobby, namely—social position. For that he would sacrifice the dearest friend or nearest relative he had on earth. His sister was once in affluent circumstances, beloved and admired by all who knew her. Hyacinth, at that time, was very friendly, of course; her husband’s wine and horses, and his name on change, were things which the extravagant Hyacinth knew how to appreciate.

“Hall (‘Floy’s’ husband) was a generous-hearted, impulsive fellow, too noble himself to see through the specious, flimsy veil which covered so corrupt a heart as Hyacinth’s. Had he been less trusting, less generous to him, ‘Floy’ might not have been left so destitute at his death. When that event occurred, Hyacinth’s regard for his sister evaporated in a lachrymose obituary notice of Hall in the Irving Magazine. The very day after his death, Hyacinth married Julia Grey, or rather married her fortune. His sister, after seeking in vain to get employment, driven to despair, at last resorted to her pen, and applied to Hyacinth, then the prosperous editor of the Irving Magazine, either to give her employment as a writer, or show her some way to obtain it. At that time Hyacinth was constantly boasting of the helping hand he had extended to young writers in their extremity, (whom, by the way, he paid in compliments after securing their articles,) and whom, he was constantly asserting, had been raised by him from, obscurity to fame.”

“Well,” said Lewis, bending eagerly forward; “well, he helped his sister, of course?”

“He did no such thing, sir,” said Mr. Walter, bringing his hand down on the table; “he did no such thing, sir; but he wrote her a cool, contemptuous, insulting letter, denying her all claim to talent, (she had sent him some specimen articles,) and advising her to seek some unobtrusive employment, (what employment he did not trouble himself to name,) and then ignored her existence; and this, too, when he was squandering money on ‘distressed’ actresses, etc.”

“Well?” said Mr. Lewis, inquiringly.

“Well, sir, she struggled on bravely and single-handed, with the skeleton Starvation standing by her hearth-stone—she who had never known a wish ungratified during her married life, whose husband’s pride in her was only equalled by his love. She has sunk fainting to the floor with hunger, that her children might not go supperless to bed. And now, when the battle is fought and the victory won, he comes in for a share of the spoils. It is ‘my sister “Floy,”’ and ’tis his ‘literary reputation which was the stepping-stone to her celebrity as a writer.’

“To show you how much ‘his reputation has helped her,’ I will just state that, not long since, I was dining at a restaurant near two young men, who were discussing ‘Floy.’ One says, ‘Have you read her book?’ ‘No,’ said the other, with a sneer, ‘nor do I want to; it is enough for me that Hyacinth Ellet claims her as a sister; that is enough to damn any woman.’ Then,” continued Mr. Walter, “there was an English paper, the editor of which, disgusted with Hyacinth’s toadyisms, fopperies, and impudence while abroad, took occasion to cut up her book (as he acknowledged) because the writer was said to be Ellet’s sister. That is the way his reputation has helped her.”

“No wonder she is at sword’s-point with him,” remarked Mr. Lewis.

“She is not at sword’s-point with him,” replied Mr. Walter. “She simply chooses to retain the position her family assigned her when she was poor and obscure. They would not notice her then; she will not accept their notice now.”

“Where was the old man, her father, all this time?” said Mr. Lewis, “was he alive and in good circumstances?”

“Certainly,” said Mr. Walter; “and once in awhile he threw her a dollar, just as one would throw a bone to a hungry dog, with a ‘begone!’”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Lewis, as he passed out, “what a heartless set.”