“Is that all?” I cried.  “Why, of course, I knew how common it is for actresses to take another name.  I was even glad of it; for the name I know, your own name, is now a secret, and all the sweeter so.  All the world admires Clarissa Lambert, but I alone love Claire Luttrell, and know that Claire Luttrell loves me.”

“But that is not all,” she expostulated, whilst the trouble in her eyes grew deeper.  “Oh, why will you make it so hard for me to explain?  I never thought, when I told you so carelessly on that night when we met for the first time, that you would grow to care for me at all.  And it was the same afterwards, when I introduced you to my mother; I gave you the name Luttrell, without ever dreaming—­”

“Was Luttrell not your mother’s name?” I asked, perplexed.

“That is the name by which she is always called now; and I am always called Claire; in fact, it is my name, but I have another, and I ought to have told you.”

“Why, as Claire I know you, and as Claire I shall always love you.  What does it matter if your real name be Lambert?  You will change it, love, soon, I trust.”

But my poor little jest woke no mirth in her eyes.

“No, it is not Lambert.  That is only the name I took when I went on the stage.  Nor am I called Luttrell.  It is a sad story; but let me tell it now, and put an end to all deception.  I meant to do so long ago; but lately I thought I would wait until after you had seen me on the stage; I thought I would explain all together, not knowing that he—­but it has all gone wrong.  Jasper, I know you will pity poor mother, even though she had allowed you to be deceived.  She has been so unhappy.  But let me tell it first, and then you will judge.  She calls herself Luttrell to avoid persecution; to avoid a man who is—­”

“A villain, I am sure.”

“A villain, yes; but worse.  He is her husband; not my father, but a second husband.  My father died when I was quite a little child, and she married again.  Ever since that day she has been miserable.  I remember her face—­oh, so well! when she first discovered the real character of the man.  For years she suffered—­we were abroad then—­ until at last she could bear it no longer, so she fled—­fled back to England, and took me with her.  I think, but I am not sure, that her husband did not dare to follow her to England, because he had done something against the laws.  I only guess this, for I never dare to ask mother about him.  I did so once, and shall never forget the look of terror that came into her eyes.  I only guess he has some strong reason for avoiding England, for I remember we went abroad hastily, almost directly after that night when mother first discovered that she had been deceived.  However that may be, we came to England, mother and I, and changed our name to Luttrell, which was her maiden name.  After this, our life became one perpetual dread of discovery.  We were miserably