"Well, Moritz?" demanded Althea, in an amused tone, "you may as well make a clean breast of it. Why have you forgotten your poor old cousins at the Red House, and why are you masquerading in this mysterious fashion? They call you Mr. Ingram, these children, but you are not Mr. Ingram now; and though I am not curious--oh, not the least bit in the world!" as he smiled, provokingly; "I should like to know what it all means." "What it means. Upon my word, Althea, you have asked a difficult question. One cannot always tell the meaning of things." And then Moritz pulled his moustache in a perplexed way. "Haven't you watched some boy throw a stone in a pond? It may be a mere pebble, but the circles widen and widen until the whole surface of the water is covered with intersecting circles?" "Why, yes," she returned, coolly, "but we are not throwing stones just now, are we?" "No, it was only a parable; I deal in parables sometimes. I was just flinging my little pebble for mere sport and idleness, when I called myself by my old name. I wanted to be incognito, to have no gaudy tag or bobtail attached to my hum-drum personality; only, you see, the play has lasted longer than usual." "But why?" she persisted--but her tone was a little anxious. "Moritz, please do not think me disagreeable,--you were always a whimsical being, and only Gwen knows the extent of your eccentricities; but I am interested in these people." Here she caught her breath a little. "When Mr. Ward knows, he might not be pleased." "Oh, I will take my chance of that," he returned, obstinately. But Althea had not finished all she had to say. "We used to know him so well in the old days; he was constantly at Kitlands. No, I know you and Gwen never saw him there. You were living abroad those two years. But Thorold Chaytor knew him. I was thinking that all this masquerading might lead to awkward complications by and by." "Nonsense!" he returned, quickly. "What makes you so faint-hearted? My dear cousin, there will be no complications at all." But Althea shook her head almost sadly. "Listen to me," he went on, with increased animation. "It is a pretty little comedy in real life, and full of dramatic situations. I am enjoying my incognito immensely; it is the best bit of fun I have had since poor old Ralston died. In Cleveland Terrace I am Monsieur Blackie; I adore the name--it suits me down to the ground." Then, as Althea laughed, he took hold of her arm in a coaxing fashion. "Althea, you are a good creature--you must promise to keep my secret for a little while. I have made all my plans and prepared my _dénouement_, and I shall want your help in carrying it out. No hints to Gwen, no treasonable correspondence! Gwen is a good girl, but her honesty is almost clumsy--it is yea, yea, and nay, nay, with her and Jack too. My masquerading, as you call it, would simply shock her. Now I have promised Miss Mollie to bring her sister to our box, and I must keep my word."