I turned in my seat. The Maria's mainsail was up, and the jib was being hoisted, and her head was rapidly falling off to the wind. Farrar was casting. In the stern, waving a handkerchief, I recognized Mrs. Cooke, and beside her a figure in black, gesticulating frantically, a vision of coat-tails flapping in the breeze. Then the yacht heeled on her course and forged lakewards. "Row, Mr. Crocker, row! they are leaving us!" cried Miss Trevor, in alarm. I hastened to reassure her. "Farrar is probably trying something," I said. "They will be turning presently." This is just what they did not do. Once out of the inlet, they went about and headed northward, up the coast, and we remained watching them until Mr. Trevor became a mere oscillating black speck against the sail. "What can it mean?" asked Miss Thorn. I had not so much as an idea. "They certainly won't desert us, at any rate," I said. "We had better go ashore again and wait." The Celebrity was seated on the beach, and he was whittling. Now whittling is an occupation which speaks of a contented frame of mind, and the Maria's departure did not seem to have annoyed or disturbed him. "Castaways," says he, gayly, "castaways on a foreign shore. Two delightful young ladies, a bright young lawyer, a fugitive from justice, no chaperon, and nothing to eat. And what a situation for a short story, if only an author were permitted to make use of his own experiences!" "Only you don't know how it will end," Miss Thorn put in. The Celebrity glanced up at her. "I have a guess," said he, with a smile. "Is it true," Miss Trevor asked, "that a story must contain the element of love in order to find favor with the public?" "That generally recommends it, especially to your sex, Miss Trevor," he replied jocosely. Miss Trevor appeared interested. "And tell me," she went on, "isn't it sometimes the case that you start out intent on one ending, and that your artistic sense of what is fitting demands another?" "Don't be silly, Irene," said Miss Thorn. She was skipping flat pebbles over the water, and doing it capitally, too. I thought the Celebrity rather resented the question. "That sometimes happens, of course," said he, carelessly. He produced his inevitable gold cigarette case and held it out to me. "Be sociable for once, and have one," he said. I accepted. "Do you know," he continued, lighting me a match, "it beats me why you and Miss Trevor put this thing up on me. You have enjoyed it, naturally, and if you wanted to make me out a donkey you succeeded rather well. I used to think that Crocker was a pretty good friend of mine when I went to his dinners in New York. And I once had every reason to believe," he added, "that Miss Trevor and I were on excellent terms." Was this audacity or stupidity? Undoubtedly both. "So we were," answered Miss Trevor, "and I should be very sorry to think, Mr. Allen," she said meaningly, "that our relations had in any way changed."