“Oh, I don’t bear any malice now,” she said.  “I did at first, naturally.  But it all seems very ridiculous now I have had time to think it over.  I believe, Mr. Crocker, that I never really cared for him.”

“Simply an idol shattered this time,” I suggested, “and not a heart broken.”

“Yes, that’s it,” said she.

“I am glad to hear it,” said I, much pleased that she had taken such a sensible view.  “But you are engaged to him.”

“I was.”

“You have broken the engagement, then?”

“No, I—­haven’t,” she said.

“Then he has broken it?”

She did not appear to resent this catechism.

“That’s the strange part of it,” said Miss Trevor, “he hasn’t even thought it necessary.”

“It is clear, then, that you are still engaged to him,” said I, smiling at her blank face.

“I suppose I am,” she cried.  “Isn’t it awful?  What shall I do, Mr. Crocker?  You are so sensible, and have had so much experience.”

“I beg your pardon,” I remarked grimly.

“Oh, you know what I mean:  not that kind of experience, of course.  But breach of promise cases and that sort of thing.  I have a photograph of him with something written over it.”

“Something compromising?” I inquired.

“Yes, you would probably call it so,” she answered, reddening.  “But there is no need of my repeating it.  And then I have a lot of other things.  If I write to break off the engagement I shall lose dignity, and it will appear as though I had regrets.  I don’t wish him to think that, of all things.  What shall I do?”

“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.