"I am not ashamed of his name," said Cynthia, with a little tremor in her voice.
"Well, perhaps not; but I'd rather it was so. I don't think I'm unreasonable, my dear. 'Lepel' isn't a common name, and it's too well known. As 'Mrs. Hubert Westwood' you will escape remark much more easily than as 'Mrs. Hubert Lepel.' I don't think it is too much to ask; and it's the one condition I make before I give my consent to his marrying you."
"I will tell him, father. Perhaps he will not mind."
"If he minds, he won't be worthy of you—that's all I've got to say," said Westwood, rising to his feet and preparing to leave the room.
But Cynthia intercepted him:
"Father, if he consents, you will forgive him, will you not?" she said putting her hands on his shoulder and looking anxiously into his eyes.
"Forgive him, my dear? Well, I suppose I have done that, or I shouldn't say that he might marry you at all."
"And you will forget the past, and love him a little for my sake?"
"I'm bound to love the people you love, Cynthy," said the old man stooping to kiss the beautiful face, and patting her cheek with his roll of plans; "and I don't think you've got any call to feel afraid."