"I don't mind that in the least. I shall go and see him. I shall say, 'You are my half-brother. You are first cousin to a collection of common folk, whose commonness will rejoice your heart. I will introduce you to them. You shall take tea with them--the tea of shrimps, periwinkles, and watercress, that you have yet to learn--and to love.' I shall exhaust myself in congratulations." "With the domestic affections I never interfere. Here, however, is a difficulty. You say 'we' will do this and that. Who is 'we'? You yourself? Suppose you spring all this upon the world? And suppose nobody takes any notice?" "I may advertise the whole history, and offer a reward for the discovery of the identification of the woman." "But nobody can identify Lady Woodroffe." "My old doctor----" "Your old doctor would break down. Lady Woodroffe has only to deny absolutely that she is the woman. Counsel can always suggest--man in India--another woman--assumption of name--real wife with her father, Lord Dunedin--letters to prove it--old nobleman swears it. Venerable old nobleman--ever seen him?--rather like Abraham." "Well, we shall find some way of forcing the history upon the public. And a certain event has just happened which may give me an opportunity." "What is that?" "My father is dead. He died yesterday. He was also Humphrey's father." "Oh, I am sorry." "No one need express any sorrow on that account. As he left my mother when I was a baby, I have never seen him. I did not know that he was in England. It appears that he has been a sandwich-man for some time. And he died in a pauper infirmary. As for myself, I feel neither shame nor grief; he was to me, as to you, a stranger. But perhaps I can use the event in order to give publicity to our story, if we must court publicity." "Well, let us hope---- But go on." "As for Lady Woodroffe, she has actually confessed the thing." He then proceeded to tell the story of the child's clothes. The doctor became thoughtful. The audacity of showing and claiming the clothes astonished him. "It isn't evidence, Dick," he said. "No; but it's complete proof to the true mother." "Perhaps--to her." Sir Robert, in fact, admitted everything. But at this stage a mere admission of the kind meant nothing. "It was a strange thing to do," said the doctor. "There is the audacity of despair about it. She had quite forgotten the fact that the register of deaths contained the name of the boy. If it had been a common name, it would have mattered little. She did not tell me that the child died in Birmingham. That doctor--what is his name? Ah! I don't know him. Does he know the meaning and bearing of his evidence?" "I believe not. He will not talk, however. He has undertaken to preserve absolute silence until he is called upon to speak."