"Order, gentlemen, please. Then may I take it that, at present, we are finally agreed upon a verdict of not guilty?" "Coupled," corrected Mr. Moss, "with an intimation to the effect that, considering the prisoner's age, we have been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt." "Precisely. Does any other gentleman wish to make an observation? Apparently not. Then may I also take it that we are ready to return into court?" Acclamations in the affirmative rose from all sides. The foreman rang the hand-bell which was in front of him. The usher appeared. * * * * * So the prisoner was acquitted, no one in the court having the faintest notion why. The Chancellor's Ward I. One really ought to write, She married him, not He married her. "The simple question is, my dear Tommy, are you going to take me or leave me?" This was in Hyde Park. They were seated on one of those seats which are in front of the police-station. Neither of them ought to have been there, which, of course, was one of the reasons why they were. Mr. Stanham turned his eye-glass full upon Miss Cullen. Perhaps he thought that that was sufficient answer. Anyhow, she went on: "In other words, are you going to marry me, or are you not?" "I am; gad, I should rather hope so. I say, don't be too hard upon a fellow, Frank." "Call me Fanny, don't call me Frank! Don't you know that my name is Frances, sir, which has absolutely no connection with Frank?" "That's all right, old man." That is what Mr. Stanham murmured. Extraordinary how some men do talk to women nowadays, even to the women whom they love! "Then, if you do intend to marry me, Mr. Thomas Stanham, you'll be so good as to do so on Thursday morning next, before noon." Mr. Stanham began to scratch the gravel with his stick. "And get seven years' penal." "Stuff! They don't give you penal servitude for marrying wards in Chancery. It's contempt of court." "Yes, I know. Have to wash out your cell at Holloway, and stand at 'attention,' with your hat off, while the governor cuts you dead." "Then perhaps you will be so good as to tell me what it is that you do propose to do. Do you imagine that you are the sort of person the Court of Chancery will ever allow to marry me?" "Haven't so much imagination, my dear Frank." "Call me Fanny, not Frank! You are not to call me Frank. Then do you suppose that I'm the sort of girl who's willing to wait, and not to marry her sweetheart, until she's twenty-five? because if you suppose anything of that kind we must be perfect strangers." "It's very good of you, I'm sure."