It was a very small room, but decent. The boy was discovered sitting up in bed--a bright-faced little fellow with black hair. Clara closed the door, then turned and looked at her husband. The light made a glistening appearance on her eyes; she had become silent, allowing facts to speak for themselves. The child stared at the stranger in astonishment. ‘Who are you?’ he asked at length. Rodman laughed as heartily as if there had been nothing disagreeable in the situation. ‘I have the honour to be your father, sir,’ he replied. ‘You’re a fine boy, Jack--a deuced fine boy.’ The child was speechless. Rodman turned to the mother. Her hands held the rail at the foot of the bed, and as the boy looked up at her for explanation she let her face fall upon them and sobbed. ‘If you’re father come back,’ exclaimed Jack indignantly, ‘why do you make mother cry?’ Rodman was still mirthful. ‘I like you, Jack,’ he said. ‘You’ll make a man some day. Do you mind if I smoke a cigar, Clara?’ To his astonishment, he felt a weakness which had to be resisted; tobacco suggested itself as a resource. When he had struck a light, his wife forced back her tears and seated herself with an unforgiving countenance. Rodman began to chat pleasantly as he smoked. Decidedly it was a _contretemps_. It introduced a number of difficulties into his life. If he remained away for a night, he had little doubt that his wife would denounce him; she knew of several little matters which he on the whole preferred to be reticent about. She was not a woman like Alice, to be turned round his finger. It behoved him to be exceedingly cautious. He had three personalities. As Mr. Willis Rodman his task was comparatively a light one, at all events for the present. He merely informed Alice by letter that he was kept in town by business and would see her in the course of a week. It was very convenient that Alice had no intercourse with her relatives. Secondly, as Mr. Williamson his position was somewhat more difficult. Not only had he to present himself every night at the rooms he had taken in Brixton, but it was necessary to take precautions lest his abode should be discovered by those who might make awkward use of the knowledge. He had, moreover, to keep Clara in the dark as to his real occupations and prevent her from knowing his resorts in town. Lastly, as Mr. Robert Delancey he had to deal with matters of a very delicate nature indeed, in themselves quite enough to occupy a man’s mental energy. But our friend was no ordinary man. If you are not as yet satisfied of that, it will ere long be made abundantly clear to you.