e love? It is bosom
friendship; that is the purest passion of love. It is the only love that
lasts."

There was a silence for the space of some minutes; Paul and Miss. Juno
were quietly, dreamily smoking. Without, among the roses, there was the
boom of bees; the carol of birds, the flutter of balancing butterflies.
Nature was very soothing, she was in one of her sweetest moods. The two
friends were growing drowsy. Miss. Juno, if she at times betrayed a
feminine fondness for argument, was certainly in no haste to provoke
Paul to a further discussion of the quality of love or friendship;
presently she began rather languidly:

"You were saying I ought to write, and that you believe I can, if I will
only try. I'm going to try; I've been thinking of something that
happened within my knowledge; perhaps I can make a magazine sketch of
it."

"Oh, please write it, Jack! Write it, and send the manuscript to me,
that I may place it for you; will you? Promise me you will!" The boy was
quite enthusiastic, and his undisguised pleasure in the prospect of
seeing something from the pen of his pal--as he loved to call Miss.
Juno--seemed to awaken a responsive echo in her heart.

"I will, Paul; I promise you!"--and the two struck hands on it.

IV

When Paul returned to the Eyrie, it had been decided that Miss. Juno was
to at once begin her first contribution to periodic literature. She had
found her plot; she had only to tell her story in her own way, just as
if she were recounting it to Paul. Indeed, at his suggestion, she had
promised to sit with pen in hand and address him as if he were actually
present. In this way he hoped she would drop into the narrative style
natural to her, and so attractive to her listeners.

As for Paul Clitheroe, he was to make inquiry among his editorial
friends in the Misty City, and see if he might not effect some
satisfactory arrangement with one or another of them, whereby he would
be placed in a position enabling him to go abroad in the course of a few
weeks, and remain abroad indefinitely. He would make Venice his
headquarters; he would have the constant society of his friends; the
fellowship of Jack; together, after the joint literary labors of the
day, they would stem the sluggish tide of the darksome canals and
exchange sentiment and cigarette smoke in mutual delight. Paul was to
write a weekly or a semi-monthly letter to the journal employing him as
a special correspondent. At intervals,