'You know that I call myself Luckworth Crewe,' resumed Nancy's
companion after a short silence.

'Of course I do.'

'Well, the fact is, I've no right to either of the names. I thought
I'd just tell you, for the fun of the thing; I shouldn't talk about
it to any one else that I know. They tell me I was picked up on a
doorstep in Leeds, and the wife of a mill-hand adopted me. Their
name was Crewe. They called me Tom, but somehow it isn't a name I
care for, and when I was grown up I met a man called Luckworth, who
was as kind as a father to me, and so I took his name in place of
Tom. That's the long and short of it.'

Nancy looked a trifle disconcerted.

'You won't think any worse of me, because I haven't a name of my
own?'

'Why should I? It isn't your fault.'

'No. But I'm not the kind of man to knuckle under. I think myself
just as good as anybody else I'll knock the man down that sneers at
me; and I won't thank anybody for pitying me; that's the sort of
chap I am. And I'm going to have a big fortune one of these days.
It's down in the books. I know I shall live to be a rich man, just
as well as I know that I'm walking down Dean Street with Miss. Lord.'

'I should think it very possible,' his companion remarked.