“Do nothing,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Just that.  Do not break the engagement, and keep the photograph and other articles for evidence.  If he makes any overtures, don’t consider them for an instant.  And I think, Miss Trevor, you will succeed sooner or later in making him very uncomfortable.  Were he any one else I shouldn’t advise such a course, but you won’t lose any dignity and self-respect by it, as no one will be likely to hear of it.  He can’t be taken seriously, and plainly he has never taken any one else so.  He hasn’t even gone to the trouble to notify you that he does not intend marrying you.”

I saw from her expression that my suggestion was favorably entertained.

“What a joke it would be!” she cried delightedly.

“And a decided act of charity,” I added, “to the next young woman on his list.”

CHAPTER VIII

The humor of my proposition appealed more strongly to Miss Trevor than I had looked for, and from that time forward she became her old self again; for, even after she had conquered her love for the Celebrity, the mortification of having been jilted by him remained.  Now she had come to look upon the matter in its true proportions, and her anticipation of a possible chance of teaching him a lesson was a pleasure to behold.  Our table in the dining-room became again the abode of scintillating wit and caustic repartee, Farrar bracing up to his old standard, and the demand for seats in the vicinity rose to an animated competition.  Mr. Charles Wrexell Allen’s chair was finally awarded to a nephew of Judge Short, who could turn a story to perfection.

So life at the inn settled down again to what it had been before the Celebrity came to disturb it.

I had my own reasons for staying away from Mohair.  More than once as I drove over to the county-seat in my buggy I had met the Celebrity on a tall tandem cart, with one of Mr. Cooke’s high-steppers in the lead, and Miss Thorn in the low seat.  I had forgotten to mention that my friend was something of a whip.  At such times I would bow very civilly and pass on; not without a twinge, I confess.  And as the result of one of these meetings I had to retrace several miles of my road for a brief I had forgotten.  After that I took another road, several miles longer, for the sight of Miss Thorn with him seriously disturbed my peace of mind.  But at length the day came, as I had feared, when circumstances forced me to go to my client’s place.  One morning Miss Trevor and I were about stepping into the canoe for our customary excursion when one of Mr. Cooke’s footmen arrived with a note for each of us.  They were from Mrs. Cooke, and requested the pleasure of our company that day for luncheon.  “If you were I, would you go?” Miss Trevor asked doubtfully.

“Of course,” I replied.

“But the consequences may be unpleasant.”