And so Alice, strung to the fine pitch of irony, turned her back and trudged away through the echoing hall, and the door closed behind her. Then from there, pulling herself together, for the interview, short as it was, had terribly upset her, she went on to Crescent Park. Mrs Wiggs received the news as most of her class, and was sent home in a cab loudly bemoaning. And Marigold heard her get out of the conveyance and sob loudly as she entered the house, where a neighbour was now awaiting. And Marigold shivered. But Alice walked home in the dusk, and crossing the large deserted space before the Temple, she met St Armand. He knew her, though only having seen her once; and not only that, he must have known her name. “Good-evening, Alice. Is anything wrong at your place?” Oh! balm on wounds, to be spoken to with such sympathetic interest by one gentleman when so rudely snubbed by another. “Wrong?” she cried, breaking down despite her efforts. “Mistress is ill. The little boy she was nursing died this morning, and she’s quite broken down.” “Ah! and the little boy had a doctor, I believe--a quack doctor?” “Yes, indeed; a hateful man--a hypocrite who took everybody in.” “What’s the matter with your mistress?” “Why, he says she’s got consumption. But I can’t bear to think of it--indeed I can’t.” “He knows nothing. He makes as many mistakes as a fashionable doctor.” “How do you know she hasn’t?” said Alice, longing to be assured. “Well, I’m not quite sure. But if I saw her I could easily tell.” “Are you a doctor too, then?” “No; but I know as much about it as he does--perhaps more. He hasn’t the sympathy with women that I have. He hasn’t got a wife, you see.” Alice, remembering the Master’s words, felt what an admirable thing a wife must be. “Come and see her, will you?” she asked bluntly. “When did the little boy die?” “This morning.” “Oh! bless me, the symptoms haven’t had time to develop yet. When did she last see the doctor?” “This morning, too.” “Ah! he has probably an excellent reason for thinking she has consumption then. It will enable him to still come to see her.” “Heaven forbid!” said Alice. “He spoke to-night as no godly gentleman ever would have done, and he’ll never cross our threshold again. But wait!” she went on triumphantly; “wait! When he finds out who he’s been insulting and flinging impudence at, he may alter his tone. The hignoramus!” “Can it really be true he took your mistress for nothing better than a beggar girl?” “Of course. And he was too proud to fall in love with her. Too proud! He! with an old hull of a house, furnished with nothing else but odds and ends of furniture meant for a musty museum. If he’d known she was a Princess, he’d have jumped at her--though, no doubt, when it came to the test, she’d have been too proud to marry him. Hignoramus!” “He or she?”