omewhat increased fervor, perhaps, his manner betokened no
uneasiness, and not even by a glance did he betray any disturbing
influence from above.

Thus we stood silently until the figure was finished, when Miss Thorn
seated herself in one of the wicker chairs behind us.

"Doesn't it make you wish to dance?" said Farrar to her. "It is hard
luck you should be doomed to spend the evening with two such useless
fellows as we are."

She did not catch his remark at first, as was natural in a person
preoccupied. Then she bit her lips to repress a smile.

"I assure you, Mr. Farrar," she said with force, "I have never in my life
wished to dance as little as I do now."

But a voice interrupted her, and the scarlet coat of the Celebrity was
thrust into the light between us. Farrar excused himself abruptly and
disappeared.

"Never wished to dance less!" cried the Celebrity. "Upon my word, Miss
Thorn, that's too bad. I came up to ask you to reconsider your
determination, as one of the girls from Asquith is leaving, and there is
an extra man."

"You are very kind," said Miss Thorn, quietly, "but I prefer to remain
here."

My surmise, then, was correct. She had evidently met the Celebrity, and
there was that in his manner of addressing her, without any formal
greeting, which seemed to point to a close acquaintance.

"You know Mr. Allen, then, Miss Thorn?" said I.

"What can you mean?" she exclaimed, wheeling on me; "this is not Mr.
Allen."

"Hang you, Crocker," the Celebrity put in impatiently; "Miss Thorn knows
who I am as well as you do."

"I confess it is a little puzzling," said she; "perhaps it is because I
am tired from travelling, and my brain refuses to work. But why in the
name of all that is strange do you call him Mr. Allen?"

The Celebrity threw himself into the chair beside her and asked
permission to light a cigarette.

"I am going to ask you the favor of respecting my incognito, Miss Thorn,
as Crocker has done," he said. "Crocker knew me in the East, too. I had
not counted upon finding him at Asquith."

Miss Thorn straightened herself and made a gesture of impatience.

"An incognito!" she cried. "But you have taken another man's name. And
you already had his face and figure!"

I jumped.

"That is so," he calmly returned; "the name was ready to hand, and so I
took it. I don't imagine it will make any difference to him. It's only
a whim of mine, and with me there's no accounting for a whim. I make