And, to do him justice, he could drive.  He won the instant respect of Mr. Cooke’s coachman by his manner of taking up the lines, and clinched it when he dropped a careless remark concerning the off wheeler.  And after the critical inspection of the horses which is proper he climbed up on the box.  There was much hesitation among the ladies as to who should take the seat of honor:  Mrs. Cooke declining, it was pressed upon Miss Thorn.  But she, somewhat to my surprise, declined also, and it was finally filled by a young woman from Asquith.

As we drove off I found myself alone with Mrs. Cooke’s niece on the seat behind.

The day was cool and snappy for August, and the Rise all green with a lavish nature.  Now we, plunged into a deep shade with the boughs lacing each other overhead, and crossed dainty, rustic bridges over the cold trout-streams, the boards giving back the clatter of our horses’ feet:  or anon we shot into a clearing, with a colored glimpse of the lake and its curving shore far below us.  I had always loved that piece of country since the first look I had of it from the Asquith road, and the sight of it rarely failed to set my blood a-tingle with pleasure.  But to-day I scarcely saw it.  I wondered what whim had impelled Miss Thorn to get into this seat.  She paid but little attention to me during the first part of the drive, though a mere look in my direction seemed to afford her amusement.  And at last, half way up the Rise, where the road takes to an embankment, I got a decided jar.

“Mr. Allen,” she cried to the Celebrity, “you must stop here.  Do you remember how long we tarried over this bit on Friday?”

He tightened the lines and threw a meaning glance backward.

I was tempted to say: 

“You and Mr. Allen should know these roads rather well, Miss Thorn.”

“Every inch of them,” she replied.

We must have gone a mile farther when she turned upon me.

“It is your duty to be entertaining, Mr. Crocker.  What in the world are you thinking of, with your brow all puckered up, forbidding as an owl?”

“I was thinking how some people change,” I answered, with a readiness which surprised me.

“Strange,” she said, “I had the same thing in mind.  I hear decidedly queer tales of you; canoeing every day that business does not prevent, and whole evenings spent at the dark end of a veranda.”

“What rubbish!” I exclaimed, not knowing whether to be angered or amused.

“Come, sir,” she said, with mock sternness, “answer the charge.  Guilty or not guilty?”

“First let me make a counter-charge,” said I; “you have given me the right.  Not long ago a certain young lady came to Mohair and found there a young author of note with whom she had had some previous acquaintance.  She did not hesitate to intimate her views on the character of this Celebrity, and her views were not favorable.”

I paused.  There was some satisfaction in seeing Miss Thorn biting her lip.