he book is now so well known it is needless to transfer
its features to these pages.

Presently the authoress paused and seemed to wait for her guest's
criticism.

"That is one chapter," she said.

"Yes. I remember. And the second one is where Algernon begins to
disclose a very little of his true nature. Shall we not have that now?"

"As you like. I thought perhaps you would give me advice as we
proceeded, some fault-finding here and there, a suggestion of
alterations."

He shook his head affably.

"Not yet," he answered. "Up to this point I see nothing that requires
condemnation."

"Nor praise, perhaps?" she said, in a low tone.

"That might be true, also," he replied. "The first chapter of a novel is
only the laying of the cloth and the placing of a few dishes. The viands
that form the meal are still in the kitchen."

She smiled at the simile.

"But even the laying of the cloth is important," she said.

"Your cloth is laid most admirably," he answered. "And now we will have
the castor, which in this case, I believe, contains a certain quantity
of mustard and red pepper."

At this she laughed the more, and glanced through a few of the sheets in
her hands before she spoke again.

"Did you form any opinion about--about _me_--from this story?" she
asked, constrainedly. "Did you, in brief, think it had taken a bold girl
to write it?"

He hesitated a moment.

"Yes," he said, at last. "A bold girl, a daring girl, a brave girl. Not
one, however, whose own conduct would necessarily be like that of the
woman she has delineated."

She was so pleased that she put down the MSS. and leaned toward him with
both hands clasped together.

"You are very, very kind," she said, impressively.

"No, merely truthful," he replied. "With your permission I want to
retain that last quality in all my conversations with you. When you ask
me a question I wish to be perfectly free to answer according to my
honest convictions."

"It is what I especially desire," she said, brightening. "No one able to
judge has heard anything of this story except your friend, Mr. Gouger. I
know it is bold, sometimes I think it is brazen. I can conceive that
there are excellent people who would say it never should have been
written. To my mind, the moral I have drawn more than justifies the
plainness of my speech. You can tell better than I where I have
overstepped the proper bounds, if there be such places. You are, of
course, a man of the w