Then she plunged into the subject. "My dear lady," she began. "I do assure you that I feel for you. It is the most extraordinary case that I have ever heard of. I believe, if I remember right, there is an account of a woman in Béranger's Autobiography, who had made her baby a foundling, and spent the rest of her life in looking for him, and became mad in consequence. Do let me implore you not to begin looking for your boy; the case is hopeless--you will never succeed--you will only make the rest of your life miserable. It is quite impossible that you should ever find him, and if you did find him, it is utterly impossible that you should be able to prove that he is your child. You will, I assure you, heap disappointments and miseries upon your head." Alice said nothing. Lady Woodroffe glanced at Molly. She was looking straight before her, apparently quite unmoved. "Now let us argue the point calmly and quietly. You see a resemblance--you jump to a conclusion. Now, first, as regards the resemblance. There is a very remarkable family resemblance among many of the Woodroffes. Three cousins, at least--Miss Hilarie Woodroffe, whom you know, perhaps; my son; and this Mr. Richard Woodroffe, who appears to be a play actor of some kind--claim kinship after five hundred years--five hundred years. They met by accident in the old church of the family--they made acquaintance--both young men curiously resemble the young lady----" "It isn't only the face," said Alice; "it's the voice, and the eyes, and the manner. My husband had most beautiful manners when he chose." "On the stage, I believe, they learn to assume some kind of manners, supposed to be those of society, when they choose. My son, however, always chooses to have beautiful manners. But we must, I am sure you will admit, take into account differences as well as resemblances. For instance, I gather from the whole history that your husband was, in some respects, especially those which most touch a wife's sense of wrong--a--what we call a wretch--a disgraceful person." "He was. He deserted me. He divorced me. He married an American actress. He deserted her. Richard Woodroffe is his second son." "My son is quite the reverse. He is a young man of the highest principle and of perfectly blameless character." Molly smiled, looking straight before her. "Again, your husband, I believe, was a low comedian--a singer, a dancer, a buffoon--anything." "He was a general utility actor. Sometimes he had a variety entertainment." "Humphrey, my son, has no talent for acting at all; like his father, he would conceive it beneath the dignity of a gentleman to make merriment for his friends." Alice sighed. Molly sat looking straight before her, either unmoved or unconcerned. "Another point. Was your husband a bookish man?" "No; he was not. He never opened a book." "My son is essentially studious, especially in the history of Art."