There were no furrows on cheek or brow, no beard veiled the lines and angles about the mouth, but as she marked the chilling repose of the countenance, so indicative of conscious power and well-regulated strength, why did memory travel swiftly back among the “Stones of Venice,” repeating the description of the hawthorn on Bourges Cathedral?  “A perfect Niobe of May.”  Had this man petrified in his youth before the steady stylus of time left on his features that subtle tracery which passing years engrave on human faces?  The motto of his magazine, Veritas sine clementia, ruled his life, and, putting aside the lenses of passion and prejudice, he coolly, quietly, relentlessly judged men and women and their works; neither loving nor hating, pitying nor despising his race; looking neither to right nor left; laboring steadily as a thoroughly well-balanced, a marvellously perfect intellectual automaton.

“Good evening, Mr. Manning.  I am very glad to meet you; for I fear my letters have very inadequately expressed my gratitude for your kindness.”

Her voice trembled slightly, and she put out her hand.  He turned, bowed, offered her a chair, and, as they seated themselves, he examined her face as he would have searched the title-page of some new book for an insight into its contents.

“When did you reach New York, Miss Earl?”

“Six weeks ago.”

“I was not aware that you were in the city, until I received your note two days since.  How long do you intend to remain?”

“Probably the rest of my life, if I find it possible to support myself comfortably.”

“Is Mrs. Andrews an old friend?”

“No, sir; she was a stranger to me when I entered her house as governess for her children.”

“Miss Earl, you are much younger than I had supposed.  Your writings led me to imagine that you were at least thirty, whereas I find you almost a child.  Will your duties as governess conflict with your literary labors?”

“No, sir.  I shall continue to write.”

“You appear to have acted upon my suggestion, to abandon the idea of a book, and confine your attention to short sketches.”

“No, sir.  I adhere to my original purpose, and am at work upon the manuscript which you advised me to destroy.”

He fitted his glasses more firmly on his nose, and she saw the gleam of his strong white teeth, as a half smile moved his lips.

“Miss Earl, my desk is very near a window, and as I was writing late last night, I noticed several large moths beating against the glass which fortunately barred their approach to the flame of the gas inside.  Perhaps inexperience whispered that it was a cruel fate that shut them out; but which heals soonest, disappointed curiosity or singed wings?”

“Mr. Manning, why do you apprehend more danger from writing a book than from the preparation of magazine articles?”