Produced by David Widger
By Winston Churchill
That evening I lighted a cigar and went down to sit on the outermostpile of the Asquith dock to commune with myself. To say that I wasdisappointed in Miss Thorn would be to set a mild value on my feelings.I was angry, even aggressive, over her defence of the Celebrity. I hadgone over to Mohair that day with a hope that some good reason was at thebottom of her tolerance for him, and had come back without any hope. Shenot only tolerated him, but, wonderful to be said, plainly liked him.Had she not praised him, and defended him, and become indignant when Ispoke my mind about him? And I would have taken my oath, two weeksbefore, that nothing short of hypnotic influence could have changed her.By her own confession she had come to Asquith with her eyes opened, and,what was more, seen another girl wrecked on the same reef.
Farrar followed me out presently, and I had an impulse to submit theproblem as it stood to him. But it was a long story, and I did notbelieve that if he were in my boots he would have consulted me. Again,I sometimes thought Farrar yearned for confidences, though it wasimpossible for him to confide. And he wore an inviting air to-night.Then, as everybody knows, there is that about twilight and anafter-dinner cigar which leads to communication. They are excellentsolvents. My friend seated himself on the pile next to mine, and said,
"It strikes me you have been behaving rather queer lately, Crocker."
This was clearly an invitation from Farrar, and I melted.
"I admit," said I, "that I am a good deal perplexed over thecontradictions of the human mind."
"Oh, is that all?" he replied dryly. "I supposed it was worse.Narrower, I mean. Didn't know you ever bothered yourself with abstractphilosophy."
"See here, Farrar," said I, "what is your opinion of Miss Thorn?"
He stopped kicking his feet against the pile and looked up.
"Miss Thorn?"
"Yes, Miss Thorn," I repeated with emphasis. I knew he had in mind thatabominable twaddle about the canoe excursions.
"Why, to tell the truth," said he, "I never had any opinion of Miss
Thorn."
"You mean you never formed any, I suppose," I returned with sometartness.
"Yes, that is it. How darned precise you are getting, Crocker! Onewould think you were going to write a rhetoric. What put Miss Thorn intoyour head?"
"I have been coaching beside her this afternoon."
"Oh!" said Farrar.
"Do you remember the night she came," I asked, "and we sat with her onthe Florentine porch, and Charles Wrexell recognized her and came up?"
"Yes," he replied with awakened interest, "and I meant to ask you aboutthat."
"Miss Thorn had met him in the East. And I gathered from what she toldme that he has followed her out here."
"Shouldn't wonder," said Farrar. "Don't much blame him, do you? Is thatwhat troubles you?" he asked, in surprise.
"Not precisely," I answered vaguely; "but from what she has said then andsince, she made it pretty clear that she hadn't any use for him; sawthrough him, you know."
"Pity her if she didn't. But what did she say?"
I repeated the conversations I had had with Miss Thorn, without revealing
Mr. Allen's identity with the celebrated author.