ur to clear the crowded rooms, and as
Alan had offered his arm to Lettice, in order to guide her through the
crush, he had an opportunity of speaking to her, which he turned to good
account.

"I am glad to see that your brother is in Parliament," he said.

"Yes; of course we were pleased."

"He will make his mark--has made it already, indeed. He is very
eloquent; I have heard him speak more than once. He is a most skillful
advocate; if I were ever in trouble I would rather have him on my side
than against me."

He was speaking lightly, thinking it must please her to hear her brother
praised. But she did not answer his last remark.

"I hope Mrs. Campion is well?"

"Not very well, unfortunately. I am afraid she grows much weaker, and
her sight is beginning to fail."

"That must be very trying. I know what that means to an old lady who has
not many ways of occupying herself. I was making the same observation at
home this morning."

"With regard to your mother?"

"Oh, no. My mother died when I was little more than a boy. But I have an
aunt living with me, who must be nearly seventy years old, and she was
telling me to-day that she could scarcely see to read."

"Oh," said Lettice, with a rush of blood to her face, "is Mrs.
Bundlecombe your aunt?"

"Yes," he said, looking rather surprised, "you spoke as if you knew her.
Did you ever see Mrs. Bundlecombe?"

"I--I had heard her name."

"At Angleford? Or Thorley?"

"Of course, I heard of Mr. Bundlecombe there."

"Is it not strange," Alan said, after a short pause, "that I never knew
you came from Angleford until that morning when I brought you one of
your father's books? Then I asked my aunt all about you. I was never at
Angleford in my life, and if I had heard the rector's name as a boy I
did not recollect it."

"Yes, it is strange. One is too quick at coming to conclusions. I have
to beg your pardon, Mr. Walcott, for I really did think that--that Mrs.
Bundlecombe was your mother, and that----"

"That I was not going under my own name? That I was the son of a
bookseller, and ashamed of it?"

He could not help showing a trace of bitterness in his tone. At any
rate, she thought there was bitterness. She looked at him humbly--for
Lettice was destitute of the pride which smaller natures use in
self-defence when they are proved to be in the wrong--and said,

"Yes, I am afraid I thought so at the moment."

"At what moment?"

"Do not ask me! I am very sorr