look shocked."

It dawned on him that this to him was like an anchor to a ship adrift.
He was in the conspiracy! He was participant in a location and a name!
He leaned back and laughed softly with exultation which she mistook for
amused support.

"I swear to you," he said, lifting his right hand with mock solemnity,
"that as long as you have the lease on this place, wherever it is, I
shall know you only as Mary Allen! I shall write you there as Mary
Allen! I shall send cards and flowers to Mary Allen! And I hereby
solemnly swear never to divulge to anyone, even the queen's torturers,
who Mary Allen is, that she is any other than Mary Allen, a poor
struggling artist who lives by work on pickles, jam, and pate de foie
gras! Is that oath enough?"

"Good," she responded, gleefully. "First rate! All we need to complete
the plot is some perfectly absurd title for you, and we have it
complete. How would Percival St. Clair do?"

"Make it Bill Jones, the Pirate, and I'll agree!" he declared.

"Bill Jones, Pirate, you are henceforth," she laughed. "Just fancy you,
of all people, leading a double life under the name of Bill Jones!" and
again she laughed so merrily that he joined in without reserve.
Fortunately there was none near save a staid old waiter to criticize
their freedom, and of him they were unaware.

He was still desirous, however, of inducing her to betray her real name,
and so rather adroitly asked, "But I can't see why you didn't take the
lease under your own name. Surely this town is big enough so that all
leases aren't published, or if so, it seems a safe bet that your mother
never would read them daily. Why not under your own name?"

"There you go, spoiling the sport!" she declared. "Do you know where
MacDougall Alley is? No? Well, I'll tell you. It's but a little way west
of Washington Square, is a blind alley in an old section, and is now one
of the best studio districts in New York. It's so famous that every once
in so often it is written up by enterprising special writers, and I have
seen pictures of it and its studios and frequent comments on the work
being done there by this or that artist or sculptor. So you see that,
sooner or later, Mamma would certainly hear of it if I used my own name.
That's the reason for Mary Allen!"

"And for Bill Jones. Don't forget that low-browed ruffian, Bill Jones,
the pirate of the piece," he replied, secretly baffled, but outwardly
amused.

Thinking it over afterw