“Well?”

“Not at all favorable, mind you,” I went on.  “And the young lady’s general appearance was such as to lead one to suppose her the sincerest of persons.  Now I am at a loss to account for a discrepancy between her words and her actions.”

While I talked Miss Thorn’s face had been gradually turning from mine until now I saw only the dainty knot at the back of her head.  Her shoulders were quivering with laughter.  But presently her face came back all gravity, save a suspicious gleam of mirth in the eyes.

“It does seem inconsistent, Mr. Crocker; I grant you that.  No doubt it is so.  But let me ask you something:  did you ever yet know a woman who was not inconsistent?”

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.