I experienced a great surprise a few mornings afterwards. I had risen quite early, and found the Celebrity's man superintending the hoisting of luggage on top of a van.
“Is your master leaving?” I asked.
“He's off to Mohair now, sir,” said the valet, with a salute.
At that instant the Celebrity himself appeared.
“Yes, old chap, I'm off to Mohair,” he explained. “There's more sport in a day up there than you get here in a season. Beastly slow place, this, unless one is a deacon or a doctor of divinity. Why don't you come up, Crocker? Cooke would like nothing better; he has told me so a dozen times.”
“He is very good,” I replied. I could not resist the temptation to add, “I had an idea Asquith rather suited your purposes just now.”
“I don't quite understand,” he said, jumping at the other half of my meaning.
“Oh, nothing. But you told me when you came here, if I am not mistaken, that you chose Asquith because of those very qualities for which you now condemn it.”
“Magna est vis consuetudinis,” he laughed; “I thought I could stand the life, but I can't. I am tired of their sects and synods and sermons. By the way,” said he pulling at my sleeve, “what a deuced pretty girl that Miss Thorn is! Isn't she? Rollins, where's the cart? Well, good-bye, Crocker; see you soon.”
He drove rapidly off as the clock struck six, and an uneasy glance he gave the upper windows did not escape me. When Farrar appeared, I told him what had happened.