I did not realize I had been side-tracked until I came to think over this
conversation afterwards.

"I am not sure," I replied. "Perhaps I merely hoped that one such
existed."

She dropped her eyes.

"Then don't be surprised at my failing," said she. "No doubt I
criticised the Celebrity severely. I cannot recall what I said.
But it is upon the better side of a character that we must learn to look.
Did it ever strike you that the Celebrity had some exceedingly fine
qualities?"

"No, it did not," I answered positively.

"Nevertheless, he has," she went on, in all apparent seriousness.
"He drives almost as well as Uncle Farquhar, dances well, and is a
capital paddle."

"You were speaking of qualities, not accomplishments," I said.
A horrible suspicion that she was having a little fun at my expense
crossed my mind.

Very good, then. You must admit that he is generous to a fault, amiable;
and persevering, else he would never have attained the position he
enjoys. And his affection for you, Mr. Crocker, is really touching,
considering how little he gets in return."

"Come, Miss Thorn," I said severely, "this is ridiculous. I don't like
him, and never shall. I liked him once, before he took to writing
drivel. But he must have been made over since then. And what is more,
with all respect to your opinion, I don't believe he likes me."

Miss Thorn straightened up with dignity and said:

"You do him an injustice. But perhaps you will learn to appreciate him
before he leaves Mohair."

"That is not likely," I replied--not at all pleasantly, I fear. And
again I thought I observed in her the same desire to laugh she had before
exhibited.

And all the way back her talk was of nothing except the Celebrity.
I tried every method short of absolute rudeness to change the subject,
and went from silence to taciturnity and back again to silence. She
discussed his books and his mannerisms, even the growth of his
popularity. She repeated anecdotes of him from Naples to St.
Petersburg, from Tokio to Cape Town. And when we finally stopped under
the porte cochere I had scarcely the civility left to say good-bye.

I held out my hand to help her to the ground, but she paused on the
second step.

"Mr. Crocker," she observed archly, "I believe you once told me you had
not known many girls in your life."

"True," I said; "why do you ask?"

"I wished to be sure of it," she replied.

And jumping down without my assistance, she la