"Doubtless," he said. "Your father’s friends were very proud, and very much against his marrying an actress." "And my mother feared my going among them?" "Doubtless. But you need not do so now." "Do they know who I am?" "Yes, _my lady_." He uttered the words, not out of compliment, but of set purpose. It was part of the information he had to give her. She looked up to him with a curious look, as if he were some magician who had suddenly given her sacksful of gold, and was about to change the gold again into flints. "If all this is true, why did I never hear it from any one else?" "We alone knew, and your father’s friends. They concealed the marriage as well as they could, and certainly never would speak to any one about you." "And all these estates you speak of are mine?" she said, with a bewildered look on her face. "Yes." "And all that money?" "Certainly." "Without the chance of anybody coming forward and saying it is not mine?" "There is no such chance that I know of, once you have been identified as Lady Knottingley’s daughter, and that will not be difficult." "And I can do with the money what I like?" she asked, the bewilderment turning to a look of joy. "Most undoubtedly." "Out of such sums as you mention, I could give 20,000*l.* to one person, and the same amount to another?" "Certainly. But you will forgive my saying that such bequests are not usual—perhaps you will get the advice of a friend." "I have only two friends—a Miss Featherstone, and an old gentleman called Mr. Anerley. These are the two I mean." Mr. Cayley opened his eyes with astonishment. "Miss Featherstone of the —— Theatre?" "Yes." "You propose to give her 20,000*l.*?" "Yes," said the young girl, frankly, and with a bright happy look on her face. "The imprudence—the indiscretion—if I may say so!—(although it is no business of mine, my lady, and we shall be glad to fulfil any of your instructions). What could such a girl do with that sum of money?" "What shall I do with all the rest—if it is real, which I can scarcely believe yet? But I wish you to tell me truly what was my mother’s intention in keeping this secret from me. I was only to apply to you in extreme need. No one knows how extreme my need is—how extreme it was last night, when it drove me to take out that letter and resolve to appeal to you." "Your mother told my father why she should keep the secret from you. She wished you never to undergo the wrongs she had suffered by coming in contact with those people whose influence over your father she feared and hated." "And how she used to teach me always to rely upon the stage!" she said, musingly, and scarcely addressing herself to the man before her. "Perhaps I have done very wrong in relinquishing it. Perhaps I am to have as miserable a life as she had; but it will not be through _them_." "Now, my lady, there is no necessity why you should ever see one of the family."