The curtain had now drawn up, and they were at liberty to seat themselves comfortably in the front of the box. Mollie's and Waveney's eyes were fixed on the stage, but Mr. Ingram, who had seen the play before, was not so engrossed. He had just discovered a picturesque little girl in a sapphire blue cloak, and a curly babyish-looking head who reminded him of his little Samaritan; he wanted to take another look at her, but he could only see her profile. And then Althea's long, pale face and reddish hair came into view, and beside her Doreen's dark-complexioned features. "Now what on earth has put it into my cousins' heads to come here to-night?" he said to himself, in a vexed voice. "It is not like Althea to spoil sport in this fashion. And they have brought little Miss Ward, too," and then he frowned and twisted his moustache fiercely, and growled under his breath, "Confound those women!" in quite irate fashion. Any one who knew Mr. Ingram well--his mother, if he had one, or his sister--for there was certainly no wife _en evidence_--would have seen that he was greatly chagrined and perplexed; but, being a humourist and one of the most good-natured men living, he worked off his wrath harmlessly by parodying the well-known verse, and muttering it softly for his own refreshment: "Oh, woman in our hour of ease A giddy flirt, a flippant tease, As aggravating as the shade By blind Venetian ever made. When pain and anguish wring the brow A veritable humbug thou." And lo and behold! he was so pleased with his own cleverness that his exasperation died a natural death. The first act was over before Mollie caught sight of Waveney, and then her delight and excitement were so great that her father had to gently admonish her that they were surrounded by strangers; and Noel, in a melodramatic whisper, threatened to take strong measures unless she behaved properly and left off kissing her hand like a crazy infant. The next moment Mr. Ingram left his seat, and Althea, who guessed that he was coming across to them, went to the back of the box to receive him. He looked at her gravely. "_Et tu Brute!_" he said, reproachfully, as he took her hand. Althea laughed. "Oh, I was not spying on you, my lord," she returned, playfully; but he exclaimed,-- "Hush, for pity's sake!" in such an agonised tone that Althea nearly laughed again. "That child does not hear us," she said, soothingly. "Shall we take a turn in the corridor?" And as he nodded assent, they went out together. Waveney had not even seen him enter the box; she was busily telegraphing to Mollie.