rn, it will be genuine love
with Shirley Roseleaf, if any. The imitations one finds in the
fashionable world will never answer for him."

The young lady breathed a gentle sigh, as her thoughts dwelt on the
handsome figure she had seen in front of the Hoffman House.

"You may bring him here--yes, I should be glad to have you," she said,
slowly. "But I must ask one favor; do not tell him what I said so
thoughtlessly about his being my ideal. Let me talk with him on fair
terms. It may be, as you suggest, that we shall be of advantage to each
other. When can you arrange it?"

"Almost any day," smiled Weil. "I will let you know, by mail or
otherwise. And now, this story of yours," he added, thinking it a shrewd
plan to divert her attention from the other matter while it was still
warm in her mind. "Though I have read it through, and think I understand
it fairly well, I am all the more anxious to hear it from your lips. You
will put into the text new meanings, I have no doubt, that have escaped
my observation."

Miss Fern flushed pleasantly and inquired with a show of anxiety whether
Mr. Weil had found its construction as bad as his friend, Mr. Gouger,
had intimated.

"To be perfectly honest, it might be improved," he replied. "But the
germ is there, Miss Fern--that necessary thing for a good novel--an
interest that will hold the reader in spite of himself. I disagree with
Lawrence in his essential point. I am sure that a good writer of English
with a taste for fiction could make all the necessary alterations
without in the least detracting from the value of the story. For
instance, I believe if Mr. Roseleaf would take hold of it I could
guarantee to get you a publisher this winter."

"And do you think he would?" she cried.

"I think so."

The authoress was so delighted with this announcement that she conquered
the slight wound to her pride. It would be herself still who had drawn
the picture, who had put the coloring into it; all that the other would
have to do might be described as varnishing. She took up the first sheet
of her writing, and turned up an oil lamp that stood upon the table at
her elbow, the better to see the lines.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Quite ready," smiled Mr. Weil.

In a voice that trembled a little, and yet not unpleasantly to the
listener, Miss Fern began to read her manuscript. The opening chapter
introduced the heroine and two gentlemen, either one of whom might be
the hero. As t