She took the nearest way to Montgomery Street, and proceeded almost to the head of that thoroughfare. Ascending a very wide flight of steps, she turned to the right, and went up a narrower flight; turning again to the left, she went up a narrower flight still. Without pausing to take breath, Miss Sophia proceeded, by the help of the skylight, to read the names on a whole army of doors. Making nearly the whole circuit of the long hall, she arrived finally at a door which seemed to meet with her approval, for she nodded her head, knocked, and walked briskly in. “What a horrid-looking man!” she said, as she threw herself upon a well-worn lounge, and breathed heavily. “What an ugly old vixen!” replied the gentleman thus apostrophised, looking up from the desk at which he sat writing. “Hem!” rejoined Miss Sophia, eyeing him wickedly, and still labouring for her breath, after her unwonted exertion. “Well, madam?” “How dare you, sir—but this is Mr. Beanson, no doubt?” “Yes, madam.” “I called, sir,” pronounced Miss Garr, in an angry tone, “to have you explain to me explicitly, and without reservation, what constitutes a breach of promise.” Now two different persons had been harassing Mr. Beanson that very morning with unpaid bills. Yet it was a characteristic of this remarkable man that all his greatest troubles were in the future—that undiscovered country of his first brief, and the presidency. He was possessed of a wonderful talent at apprehending evil; and he had not heard Miss Sophia this long without exerting it. He thought instantly of the snares laid for unsuspecting young men by designing females, and did not grow calmer as his visitor repeated— “Come, sir; you profess to be a lawyer, if you are not. Can you tell me, sir?” “M—madam, I don’t know you!” exclaimed Mr. Beanson, feeling very much confused, but looking, as he always did, very aggressive. “I found your card in my card-case, and I want to know, sir, what constitutes a breach of promise.” “Madam, I tell you I don’t know you _at all_!” “But did you not leave your card in my card-case at Mrs. Clayton’s?” “I did, madam, but that does not constitute a breach of promise; and I warn you now,” said Mr. Beanson, raising his voice and his forefinger, and shaking both at her simultaneously, “I warn you now, madam, that you cannot ground an action for breach of promise on a little skilful advertising!” “What do you mean, sir?” Mr. Beanson observed a sudden and marked change coming over the features of his visitor, and took it for the herald of her discomfiture and his own triumph.