desolate--were you, I say, abroad in the park?

"Y-y-yes, your Honor."

"In the immediate vicinity of this bench?"

"Benches are very alike in the dark."

"But occupants of them are not. Don't fence with the court. Were you
wearing one or more roses of the general hue and device of those now
displayed in your cheeks?"

"The honorable court has nothing to do with my face," said the witness
defiantly.

"On the contrary, your face is the _corpus delicti._ Did you, taking
advantage of the unconscious and hence defenseless condition of my
client, that is, of Mr. Martin Dyke, lean over him and deliberately
imprint a--"

"No! No! No! No! _No_!" cried the butterfly with great and unconvincing
fervor. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing?"

"On the circumstantial evidence of a pink rose petal. But worse is
coming. The charge is unprovoked and willful murder."

Butterflies are strange creatures. This one seemed far less concerned
over the latter than the former accusation. "Of whom?" she inquired.

"You have killed a budding poet." Here I violated a sacred if implied