A Lion in an ass’s skin is still a lion in spite of his disguise.  Conversely, the same might be said of an ass in a lion’s skin.  The Celebrity ran after women with the same readiness and helplessness that a dog will chase chickens, or that a stream will run down hill.  Women differ from chickens, however, in the fact that they find pleasure in being chased by a certain kind of a man.  The Celebrity was this kind of a man.  From the moment his valet deposited his luggage in his rooms, Charles Wrexell Allen became the social hero of Asquith.  It is by straws we are enabled to tell which way the wind is blowing, and I first noticed his partiality for Miss Trevor from the absence of the lively conflicts she was wont to have with Farrar.  These ceased entirely after the Celebrity’s arrival.  It was the latter who now commanded the conversation at our table.

I was truly sorry for Farrar, for I knew the man, the depth of his nature, and the scope of the shock.  He carried it off altogether too well, and both the studied lightness of his actions and the increased carelessness of his manner made me fear that what before was feigned, might turn to a real bitterness.

For Farrar’s sake, if the Celebrity had been content with women in general, all would have been well; but he was unable to generalize, in one sense, and to particularize, in another.  And it was plain that he wished to monopolize Miss Trevor, while still retaining a hold upon the others.  For my sake, had he been content with women alone, I should have had no cause to complain.  But it seemed that I had an attraction for him, second only to women, which I could not account for.  And I began to be cursed with a great deal of his company.  Since he was absolutely impervious to hints, and would not take no for an answer, I was helpless.  When he had no engagement he would thrust himself on me.  He seemed to know by intuition—­for I am very sure I never told him—­what my amusement was to be the mornings I did not go to the county-seat, and he would invariably turn up, properly equipped, as I was making my way with judge Short to the tennis court, or carrying my oars to the water.  It was in vain that I resorted to subterfuge:  that I went to bed early intending to be away before the Celebrity’s rising hour.  I found he had no particular rising hour.  No matter how early I came down, I would find him on the veranda, smoking cigarettes, or otherwise his man would be there with a message to say that his master would shortly join me if I would kindly wait.  And at last I began to realize in my harassed soul that all elusion was futile, and to take such holidays as I could get, when he was off with a girl, in a spirit of thankfulness.

Much of this persecution I might have put up with, indeed, had I not heard, in one way or another, that he was doing me the honor of calling me his intimate.  This I could not stand, and I soberly resolved to leave Asquith and go back to town, which I should indeed have done if deliverance had not arrived from an unexpected quarter.