e. My only fear is that he will not interest you. He seems almost
too perfect for earth. Think of a young man who knows nothing of women,
who says he has no idea what it is to be in love, who does not
understand why the ladies who pass down Fifth Avenue turn their heads to
look at him! He, like yourself, is a novelist, but his characters are
beautiful images that lack life. He carves marble figures and attempts
to palm them off as flesh and blood. He really thinks they _are_,
because he has never known the difference. If you could take him, Miss
Fern, and teach him what love really is--"

The young lady blushed more than before.

"_I_--" she stammered.

"In a strictly literary way," he explained. "But," he added, thinking he
was getting upon the edge of a quicksand, "we must not forget the object
of my visit."

He took the parcel containing her MSS. that he had obtained from Mr.
Gouger, and began to untie the string. Manlike he soon had it in a hard
knot, and Miss Millicent, coming to his rescue, her young hands touched
his and made his heart beat faster.

"There," she said, when the knot had given way to their joint endeavors.
"It is all right, now. But, before we begin on this, tell me a little
more about Mr. Roseleaf. What has he written? Where was it published? I
will send to-morrow morning and buy a copy."

Her enthusiasm was agreeable under the circumstances, but the truth had
to be explained to her.

"What he has written I will let you see, one of these days," he replied.
"As for publishing, he ran upon the same rock that you did--that of Mr.
Lawrence Gouger."

The beautiful eyes opened wider.

"So he rejected his work, too! And yet you say that it was well done?"

"Exquisitely. Shirley's lines are as symmetrical as his face and figure.
His people are dead, that is all the trouble. Gouger scented the
difficulty under which he labors, in a moment. 'Go and fall in love!' he
said to him, 'and you will write a story at which the world will
marvel!'"

Miss Fern arranged one of her locks of Titian red that had fallen down.

"And hasn't he taken the advice?" she inquired, in a low voice.

"Not yet," smiled the other. "He says, like a very child, that 'he
cannot find any one to love.' I walked up the avenue with him to-day,
and afterwards rode in the Park. There were hundreds of the prettiest
creatures, all looking their eyes out at him. And he hadn't the courage
to return one glance, not one. Ah, Miss Fe