"Exactly. Monsieur Blackie, at your service;" and then Mollie turned cold with dismay. Ann had let him in, and he had been in the studio, and Noel's absurd sketch was on the easel. He had recognised himself. And Mollie's confusion and misery were so great that in another minute she would have disgraced herself for ever by bursting into tears; only Ingram, fearing he had taken too great a liberty, hastened to explain matters. "You see, Miss Ward, I was anxious to pay my debts, and thank your sister. If I remember rightly, I told her that I should call." "Oh, yes; at least, Waveney was not sure that you would, and she had to go out." "I should like to have seen her. Perhaps another time you will allow me----" Ingram reddened and hesitated. "She may not be long. She has gone to Berkeley Square on business. Ah," as the bell rang, "that is Ann, so please will you go upstairs." Mollie was not quite equal to the situation; she wanted to get rid of Monsieur Blackie, but he did not seem inclined to go; and Ingram took a mean advantage of her inexperience. "I have left my hat upstairs," he said, hypocritically, "and there are some flowers which I brought for your sister, and I think they ought to be put in water." This appealed at once to Mollie. "Oh, certainly," she said; and as she limped down the passage before him, a pained look came in Ingram's eyes. "Oh, what a grievous pity," he thought, "that lovely face to be allied with such a cruel infirmity." "Oh, what flowers!" exclaimed Mollie, burying her face in them; and then she glanced at the card shyly. "Moritz Ingram." What a nice name! Yes, he was rather nice, too. In spite of his droll looks, she liked his voice; but, all the same, if he would only go! He ought to go--and Ingram evidently shared this opinion, for he was hunting sedulously for his hat; and as his efforts were unavailing, Mollie was obliged to go to his help. "I brought it upstairs," he kept saying. "'Manners makye man,' and I was always remarkable for my good manners. Why, even your sister took me for a Frenchman." And at this Mollie broke into a merry laugh, and Ingram's eyes twinkled sympathetically. The next minute the door-bell rang again, and Mollie, who had just discovered the hat underneath the sofa--though how it got there, no one knew--was just going to dart to the door, when a cracked voice called out, "Cat's meat!" and the faint mewing of Mrs. Muggins was clearly audible in the distance and then Noel strolled in. He looked at Ingram in unfeigned amazement; then, being an acute lad, he grinned. "Noel, this is Mr. Ingram, the gentleman Waveney saw in the omnibus yesterday." "I recognised myself," returned Ingram, with an airy wave of the hand towards the picture, "though perhaps it is not a speaking likeness--a sort of cross between Mephistophiles and Daniel Quilp, with perhaps a _soupçon_ of the Artful Dodger. I prefer to sit for my own portrait, don't you know."