So we went.  It was a keen pleasure to be on the lake again after the sultry court-rooms and offices, and the wind and exercise quickly brought back my appetite and spirits.  I paddled hither and thither, stopping now and then to lie under the pines at the mouth of some stream, while Miss Trevor talked.  She was almost a child in her eagerness to amuse me with the happenings since my departure.  This was always her manner with me, in curious contrast to her habit of fencing and playing with words when in company.  Presently she burst out: 

“Mr. Crocker, why is it that you avoid Miss Thorn?  I was talking of you to her only to-day, and she says you go miles out of your way to get out of speaking to her; that you seemed to like her quite well at first.  She couldn’t understand the change.”

“Did she say that?” I exclaimed.

“Indeed, she did; and I have noticed it, too.  I saw you leave before coffee more than once when she was here.  I don’t believe you know what a fine girl she is.”

“Why, then, does she accept and return the attentions of the Celebrity?” I inquired, with a touch of acidity.  “She knows what he is as well, if not better, than you or I. I own I can’t understand it,” I said, the subject getting ahead of me.  “I believe she is in love with him.”

Miss Trevor began to laugh; quietly at first, and, as her merriment increased, heartily.

“Shouldn’t we be getting back?” I asked, looking at my watch.  “It lacks but half an hour of dinner.”

“Please don’t be angry, Mr. Crocker,” she pleaded.  “I really couldn’t help laughing.”

“I was unaware I had said anything funny, Miss Trevor,” I replied.

“Of course you didn’t,” she said more soberly; “that is, you didn’t intend to.  But the very notion of Miss Thorn in love with the Celebrity is funny.”

“Evidence is stronger than argument,” said I.  “And now she has even convicted herself.”

I started to paddle homeward, rather furiously, and my companion said nothing until we came in sight of the inn.  As the canoe glided into the smooth surface behind the breakwater, she broke the silence.

“I heard you went fishing the other day,” said she.

“Yes.”

“And the judge told me about a big bass you hooked, and how you played him longer than was necessary for the mere fun of the thing.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps you will find in the feeling that prompted you to do that a clue to the character of our sex.”

CHAPTER X

Mr. Cooke had had a sloop yacht built at Far Harbor, the completion of which had been delayed, and which was but just delivered.  She was, painted white, with brass fittings, and under her stern, in big, black letters, was the word Maria, intended as a surprise and delicate conjugal compliment to Mrs. Cooke.  The Maria had a cabin, which was finished in hard wood and yellow plush, and accommodations for keeping things cold.  This last Mr. Cooke had insisted upon.