The idea that he was not Sir Percival Glyde at all, that he had no more claim to the baronetcy and to Blackwater Park than the poorest labourer who worked on the estate, had never once occurred to my mind. At one time I had thought he might be Anne Catherick’s father⁠—at another time I had thought he might have been Anne Catherick’s husband⁠—the offence of which he was really guilty had been, from first to last, beyond the widest reach of my imagination.