“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Beanson, as any other drowning man might have done before he was swallowed up by any other flood. “Do you suppose, sir, I would walk all the way here from Folsome Street, and up these interminable stairs, and then go away, without knowing what constitutes a breach of promise? I would have you know, sir, that my case is urgent.” “Then you did not intend to prosecute me at all?” asked Mr. Beanson, opening his eyes very wide. “Have I not told you once? Would I prosecute a keg of nails, you ninny?” As strange as it may seem, a bland smile, which spread over the entire face of Mr. Beanson, was the result of this last poisoned arrow of Miss Garr. The _ignis fatuus_ of his first brief was again rising over the marshes of his present embarrassments. “Well, well, madam,” rejoined Mr. Beanson, “I will do anything in the world to serve you. Who is it, by the way, that you wish to prosecute?” “I don’t know as that is any of your business at present, sir; I first want an answer to the question I have asked about forty times: What constitutes a breach of promise?” “To tell the truth, madam, there are so many conditions to a breach of promise that an abstract definition of it would not do the least good in the world; and I could not give one without consulting my books—but do you absolutely insist on mentioning no names?” “I do, sir.” “Will you state the case, then, without names?” “You must see, sir, that my natural delicacy revolts against any revelations to strangers.” “Why, madam, counsellor and client should never be strangers. Besides, you must be aware that a breach of promise depends on so many things. As I have said before, there are so many conditions that we cannot proceed at all unless you answer certain questions; such as, for instance, whether you—I mean the lady, the plaintiff, in fact—has any proof of a promise, express or implied.” Miss Garr looked about the room in silent uncertainty. “Have you—I mean, has the lady—for example, any witnesses—any one who has heard the defendant that is to be,” pursued Mr. Beanson, in the language of the future, “express or imply a promise?” She could not say that the lady had. “Had she any letters to show which contained a promise either expressed or implied?” “The lady,” responded Miss Garr mysteriously; “the lady has not.” “Has the plaintiff been injured in any way by the defendant?” “Yes, grossly.” “Ah, then, I begin to see a case. Set the damages heavy—set the damages heavy. By-the-bye, is the defendant rich?” “Yes.” “Good,” said Mr. Beanson, rubbing his hands. “We will make the villain suffer.” “Thank you, Mr. Beanson. Fifty thousand dollars will be little enough. Thank you, Mr. Beanson.” And Miss Garr actually shook hands with Mr. Beanson on the spot. “Hem, ah! what was—the—nature of—these injuries—that you say the defendant had inflicted upon you—the lady, I should say, the plaintiff?” Miss Garr feigned an uneasy look.