“What do I mean?” iterated Mr. Beanson. “I mean, madam, that in this latter stage of juridical enlightenment a man cannot be held for breach of promise, or prosecuted for breach of promise, by a woman whom he never saw before in his life—and, for that matter, never wishes to see again—just because he put his business card in her card-case.” Here the speaker, seeing the remarkable effect of his philippic, launched himself upon his feet, the better to enjoy the ovation he was preparing for himself. As he undoubled his exceeding length before Sophia, he had the satisfaction of seeing the additional effect he was producing, even apart from his oratory. It was the very yellow jaundice of tones in which Mr. Beanson concluded— “No, madam, you would not get any intelligent court in the land, in these premises, to find cause of action. It was nothing but a skilful advertisement—in short, an act of commercial and legal genius. You, I suppose, would make it a crime punishable by marriage with such as you. The thing is simply ridiculous! Madam, I have done. Have you?” Mr. Beanson resumed his seat triumphantly, and eyed the astonished Garr with an expression that made his head look older than common. Miss Sophia could not have interrupted the foregoing forensic display if she had tried. In her bewilderment she was mutely deciding whether she, Sophia Garr, or all the men were going stark mad. George Lang had offered himself to Amelia, after being accepted by herself. Then this impudent red-headed wretch—whom she had never attempted to marry—either he or she was certainly crazy. The question was too complicated for a prompt decision. The two had sat for some moments, glaring at each other, in profound silence, when Miss Garr suddenly exclaimed, “You long-waisted vagabond, shut up!” This might have been effectual in a contest with a person of her own sex; since it might have shocked into silence or proved an _Ultima Thule_ of feminine virulence. When, however, Mr. Beanson, having taken some time to consider, remembered that he was not talking at all when he was requested to “shut up,” the thing struck him as laughable. Accordingly Mr. Beanson laughed—laughed loud and long, till Mr. Beanson had laughed out all the fun there was in the occurrence, and some of his own anger to boot. “Now, madam,” said he facetiously, “I am prepared to part with you.” Miss Garr was more angry than ever. “I say, madam, I am prepared to part with you. I will not detain you further.” “You ugly, hateful, impudent wretch!” remarked Sophia, finding speech at last. “You may insult me here as much as you please, since I am without a protector; but you shall not drive me away till you have answered my question. I would as soon marry a keg of nails as you, sir; so you may set your mind at rest! It is somebody else that my outraged feelings are interested in—somebody else of more consequence than you, though I verily believe he is as big a villain——”