“My name isn't Jonas,” muttered the boy addressed.
Mr. Granville meanwhile had been eagerly looking at Philip. There appeared to be something in his appearance which riveted the attention of the beholder. Was it the voice of nature which spoke from the striking face of the boy?
“You have made a mistake, boy,” said Mrs. Brent, summoning all her nerve. “I am not the lady you mention, and this boy does not bear the name of Jonas.”
“What is his name, then?” demanded Philip.
“My name is Philip Granville,” answered Jonas quickly.
“Is it? Then it has changed suddenly,” answered Phil, in a sarcastic voice. “Six months ago, when we were all living at Planktown, your name was Jonas Webb.”
“You must be a lunatic!” said Mrs. Brent, with audacious falsehood.
“My own name is Philip, as you very well know.”
“Your name Philip?” exclaimed Mr. Granville, with an excitement which he found it hard to control.
“Yes, sir; the lady is my step-mother, and this boy is her son Jonas.”