“I spoke of the novel which I was writing,” persisted Alice.
“Yes, but—”
“It is a maxim of the common law, Miss Lucy,” remarked the learned counsel, with ponderous gravity, “that all shall be held innocent till proven guilty. But should novel-writing ever be made (as seems inevitable) a statutory offence, I hold it as probable that this ruling will be reversed, and the presumption of the law adjudged, in the present state of literature, to lie the other way,—in plain English, that the onus probandi innocentiam would be held to rest upon the prisoner at the bar.”
The two other girls laughed, but Mary rewarded my diversion in her support with a grateful smile.
“To think I should have missed it!”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Come over and dine with us to-morrow, and you will have a chance of seeing him.”
“How is that?” asked Mary, with dancing eyes.
“Why, he has promised to bring Laura some candy to-morrow evening, and we can all have another look at him.”
“Oh, I wonder if he will come?” cried Mary, despondingly.
“I have no doubt of it, for he seems in some strange way as much interested in us as we in him. At any rate, you will dine with us. Mr. Whacker will of course do likewise.”