had approached it by stealth, or in an
insinuating way. She had anticipated something of the sort and had tried
to prepare herself to meet it.

"Does not nature teach us some things?" she asked, speaking
straightforwardly, though her color heightened in spite of her efforts.
"Given a certain condition, an intelligent mind can prophesy results."

He shook his head in mild disagreement with her.

"Gouger is an expert, and he denies this, as a regular rule, at least.
You should have heard him argue it with Roseleaf. 'Either throw yourself
into a love affair,' he said, 'or never try to depict one.' Excuse me,
Miss Fern, you bade me be frank--"

She assented, with a grave nod of her shapely head.

"You may have been in love--I do not ask you whether you have or
not--but you cannot have known personally of the sort of love that you
have depicted in these pages. I call it little less than miraculous that
you should draw the scene so accurately."

She colored again, this time partly with pleasure, for she was very
susceptible to compliments.

"Perhaps your statement may explain to you," she said, pointedly, "what
I meant a few minutes ago by calling you 'a man of the world.' You
recognize at a glance what I had to construct from my imagination."

Archie Weil's face changed as he realized how deftly he had been caught.
He had meant to pretend to this girl that he was more than usually
ignorant of the nether side of life.

"Don't think too badly of me because I happen to know what is clear to
every man," he said, impressively.

"To every one?" she answered. "To your friend, Mr. Roseleaf?"

"Ah! He is an exception to all rules. And yet, Gouger says he can never
write a successful book till he is more conversant with life than he is
at present."

She looked troubled.

"With life?" she echoed. "With sin, do you mean?"

"With the ordinary things that men know, and that most of them at some
time experience."

Her bright eyes were temporarily clouded.

"What a pity!" she exclaimed.

"Yes," he said, for it was his humor to agree with her. "It is a pity."

There was a pause of a minute, and then she asked if she had read enough
for one evening. He answered that as it was now past ten o'clock it
would not be easy to get much farther and that he would come again
whenever she chose to set the time.

"You do not say much about my work," she said, anxiously, as he prepared
to go.

"Silence is approval," he responded.