"Who would have thought," she persisted, "that the author of The
Sybarites, the man who chose Desmond for a hero, could play thus idly
with the heart of woman? The man who wrote these beautiful lines:
'Inconstancy in a woman, because of the present social conditions, is
sometimes pardonable. In a man, nothing is more despicable.' And how
poetic a justice it is that he has to marry me, and is thus forced to
lead the life of self-denial he has conceived for his hero. Mr. Crocker,
will you be my attorney if he should offer any objections?"

The humor of this proved too much for the three of us, and Miss Trevor
herself went into peals of laughter. Would that the Celebrity could have
seen his own face. I doubt if even he could have described it. But I
wished for his sake that the earth might have kindly opened and taken him
in.

"Marian," said Miss Trevor, "I am going to be very generous.
I relinquish the prize to you, and to you only. And I flatter myself
there are not many girls in this world who would do it."

"Thank you, Irene," Miss Thorn replied gravely, "much as I want him,
I could not think of depriving you."

Well, there is a limit to all endurance, and the Celebrity had reached
his.

"Crocker," he said, "how far is it to the Canadian Pacific?"

I told him.