"Oh! they are—are they?" muttered Jack, triumphantly; "that'll do. “You ought at once—you ought at once to have told her that. ‘Champion?’ ‘The lad you saw following her. It does not matter to him either way. " "You're fine, too. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. Truth to tell, more damage had been done in the enthusiastic chase carried out by the militiamen detailed to catch it.
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