She was probably the daughter of a Lieutenant Warren who was killed in the Crimea, and _her_ mother's name was Vavasour.

My grandmother was probably--I can only deal with probabilities and possibilities in this undocumented past--a Welsh woman of Cardiff, and I should not be surprised if I were a sort of cousin of the man I am personating.
"He was the ne'er-do-weel, only son of a Welsh vicar, a pupil of Praed's, who went out to South Africa and died or was killed in the war.
"You have met my adopted father.

He fully believes I am the bad son, the prodigal son, returned and reformed.

He has grown to love me so much that it really seems to have put new life into him.

I have helped him to get his affairs straight, and I think I may say he has gained by this substitution of one son for another, even though the new son is a daughter! I have taken none of his money, other than small sums he has thrust on me.