“Mr. Allen!” she exclaimed, turning on me.

“Yes, it is Mr. Allen who is leading,” I repeated.

An expression of perplexity spread over her face, but she said nothing.  My curiosity was aroused to a high pitch, and questions were rising to my lips which I repressed with difficulty.  For Miss Thorn had displayed, purposely or not, a reticence which my short acquaintance with her compelled me to respect; and, besides, I was bound by a promise not to betray the Celebrity’s secret.  I was, however, convinced from what had occurred that she had met the Celebrity in the East, and perhaps known him.

Had she fallen in love with him, as was the common fate of all young women he met?  I changed my opinion on this subject a dozen times.  Now I was sure, as I looked at her, that she was far too sensible; again, a doubt would cross my mind as the Celebrity himself would cross my view, the girl on his arm reduced to adoration.  I followed him narrowly when in sight.  Miss Thorn was watching him, too, her eyes half closed, as though in thought.  But beyond the fact that he threw himself into the dance with a somewhat 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?”