“Must I tell?” she demanded, dropping her eyes. “I am sorry, madam, it is absolutely necessary, since the whole case seems to hang upon that injury, or those injuries alone.” “Well, then,” said Sophia, riveting her maidenly orbs meekly upon a broken coal-scuttle; “well, then, sir, he kissed her in the dark!” “Is that all?” “Is it not enough, sir?” “It might have been enough,” replied Mr. Beanson, in the stumbling innocence which had been the bane of his life; “it might have been enough, madam, for the defendant, or for the plaintiff even, but it is hardly enough to ground an action of breach of promise upon.” Miss Garr was angry; Mr. Beanson puzzled; and both were silent. If he had seen a possible chance of securing his first brief in any other way, Mr. Archibald Beanson would most certainly have dismissed Sophia instanter. Running his long fingers inanely through his red hair, “Madam!” he said at last, “I think I shall be obliged to consult Bishop on Marriage.” “Now look here, sir,” observed Miss Sophia, wrapping her ready-made cloak tighter around her, “if you keep on, I shall lose my patience and my good manners. Who in the world wants to consult the bishop on marriage? An ordinary minister, or even a justice of the peace, will do me. I am not proud, sir.” Mr. Beanson, trying to look learned, succeeded in looking confused. Undoubling himself again—this time with abstruse deliberation—he went to a meagre bookcase, and returned to his desk. “It was this book,” said he, “that I had reference to—‘Bishop on Marriage and Divorce!’” “Well, now you begin to get sensible,” remarked Miss Garr, in a tone and manner which, expressed in words, would have read, “I grant your pardon, sir, for your trivial mistake about ministers and bishops.” Mr. Beanson opened the book, and, glancing over the table of contents, his eye rested on the heading of a chapter, which read thus—“Want of age.” In his utter helplessness, Archibald looked up again at Sophia and asked, “Is there any want of age in the parties?” “Now look here, sir; I did not come here to be insulted. You think I do not understand your irony. I would have you to know that I do.” “I asked that question,” said Mr. Beanson, soothingly, “with all due reverence for your age. This is the first time you have openly acknowledged that you are the plaintiff in the contemplated suit. I have known it all along, however; and I therefore assure you that the question about age was suggested wholly by my ignorance as to the other party—the defendant.” Mr. Beanson, without perusing the commentary on this speech written in the face of his client, now glanced his eye back to the table of contents again. The question suggested this time seemed to that astute pundit an honest one, and based on sufficient grounds. “Want of mental capacity,” he read. “That’s it,” he exclaimed. “There may be a want of mental capacity in one of the parties. Do you think the defence would make that out?” inquired Mr. Beanson.