es not belong to her."

He was looking at Jenny--or Cynthia, as she had just informed them that
she was called--a transformed and greatly altered Cynthia under Mrs.
Rumbold's management--Cynthia with hair cut short, hands and face
scrupulously clean, a neat but ugly print frock, and a coarse holland
pinafore--a perfectly subdued and uninteresting Cynthia--uninteresting
save for the melancholy beauty of her great dark wistful eyes.

"What she likes has nothing to do with it," said Mrs. Rumbold, rather
sharply. "Besides, she has another name--she told me so
herself--'Cynthia Janet'--that's what she was christened, she tells me.
She can be called 'Jane Wood' at Winstead."

The Rector looked up in mild surprise.

"Why not 'Jane Westwood,' my dear? 'Westwood' is her name."

"She had much better not be known as Westwood's daughter," said Mrs.
Rumbold, with decision, quite heedless of Cynthia's presence. "It will
be against her all her life. I have told Sister Louisa about her, and
she asked me to let her be called 'Wood.' 'Jane Wood' is a nice sensible
name."

"Well, as you please. You will not mind being called 'Jane,' will you,
my dear?" said the Rector, mindful of the red flush that was creeping
into the little pale cheeks.

He was a kindly old gentleman, in spite of his slow, absent-minded ways;
and there was a very benevolent light in his eyes as he sat in his
elbow-chair, newspaper on knee, spectacles on nose, and surveyed the
child who had been brought to his study for inspection.

Mrs. Rumbold fairly lost her patience at the question.

"How can you ask her such a thing, Alfred? As if it was her business to
mind one way or another! She ought to be thankful that she is so well
taken care of without troubling about her name. 'Jane Wood' is a very
good name indeed, much better than that silly-sounding 'Cynthia'!"--and
Mrs. Rumbold swept the child before her out of the room in a state of
high indignation at the stupidity of all men.

So Cynthia Westwood--or Jenny Westwood, as the Beechfield people called
her--was transformed into Jane Wood. She did not seem to object to the
change. She was in a dazed, stunned state of mind, in which she
understood only half of what was said to her, and when the scenes and
faces around her made a very slight impression upon her memory. One or
two things stood out clearly from the rest. One was Enid Vane's sweet
childish face, as she thrust her shilling with the hole in it into th