to cut
him because he has been accused of dishonorable acts, then I certainly
say, No!"

"How you harp upon his honor! The honor of a married man who has
introduced himself to you under a false name!"

"What do you mean?" said Lettice, starting and coloring. "Are there any
more charges against him?"

"You seem to be so well prepared to defend him that perhaps you will not
be surprised to hear that his name is not Walcott at all, but
Bundlecombe, and that his mother kept a small sweet-stuff shop, or
something of that kind, at Thorley. Bundlecombe! No wonder he was
ashamed of it!"

This shaft took better than either of the others. Lettice was fairly
taken aback. The last story did not sound as if it had been invented,
and Sydney had evidently been making inquiries. Moreover, there flashed
across her mind the remembrance of the book which Alan Walcott had given
her--only yesterday morning. How long ago it seemed already! Alan
Bundlecombe! What did the name signify, and why should any man care to
change the name that he was born with? She recollected Mrs. Bundlecombe
very well--the old woman who came and took her first twenty pounds of
savings; the widow of the bookseller who had bought part of her father's
library. If he was her son, he might not have much to be proud of, but
why need he have changed his name?

Decidedly this was a blow to her. She had no defence ready, and Sydney
saw that she was uncomfortable.

"Well," he said, "I must not keep you any longer. I suppose, even
now"--with a smile--"you will not give me your promise; but you will
think over what I have told you, and I dare say it will all come right."

Her eyes were full of wistful yearning as she put her hand on his
shoulder and kissed him.

"You believe that I _mean_ to do right, don't you, Sydney?" she asked.

He laughed a little. "We all mean to do right, my dear. But we don't all
go the same way to work, I suppose. Yes, yes; I believe you mean well;
but do, for heaven's sake, try to act with common-sense. Then, as I
said, everything will come right in the end."

He went back to his mother's room, and Lettice stood for some minutes
looking out of the window, and sighing for the weariness and disillusion
which hung like a cloud upon her life.

"All will come right?" she murmured, re-echoing Sydney's words with
another meaning. "No. Trouble and sorrow, and pain may be lived down and
forgotten; but without sincerity _nothing_ can come right!"