“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.”