Better, after all, to
deal with a fool according to his folly. The Celebrity glanced at the
door and drew his chair closer to mine.
"Crocker," he said confidentially, "I'm glad you came here to-day. There
is a thing or two I wished to consult you about."
"Professional?" I asked, trying to head him off.
"No," he replied, "amateur,--beastly amateur. A bungle, if I ever made
one. The truth is, I executed rather a faux pas over there at Asquith.
Tell me," said he, diving desperately at the root of it, "how does Miss
Trevor feel about my getting out? I meant to let her down easier; 'pon
my word, I did."
This is a way rascals have of judging other men by themselves.
"Well;" said I, "it was rather a blow, of course."
"Of course," he assented.
"And all the more unexpected," I went on, "from a man who has written
reams on constancy."
I flatter myself that this nearly struck home, for he was plainly
annoyed.
"Oh, bother that!" said he. "How many gowns believe in their own
sermons? How many lawyers believe in their own arguments?"
"Unhappily, not as many as might."
"I don't object to telling you, old chap," he continued, "that I went in
a little deeper than I intended. A good deal deeper, in fact. Miss
Trevor is a deuced fine girl, and all that; but absolutely impossible.
I forgot myself, and I confess I was pretty close to caught."
"I congratulate you," I said gravely.
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