"There is," he said, "a good deal of loose talk about heredity. Some things external are hereditary--face, eyes, figure, stature, hands, certainly descend from father to son; some diseases, especially those of the nervous kind; some forms of taste and aptitude, especially those which are artistic. Things which are not natural, but acquired, are never hereditary--never. If the boy's father is the greatest criminal in the country, it won't hurt him a bit, because he is taken away too early to have observed or imitated. The sons are said to take after the mothers; that is, perhaps, because they have always got the models before them. In your case, you will naturally become the child's most important model. Later on, will come in the male influence. If there is, for instance, a putative father----" "There will be, of course, my husband." The doctor bowed again. Then there was a husband living. "He will become the boy's second model," he said. "In other words, madam, the vices of the boy's parents--if they have vices--will not affect him in the least. Gout, rheumatism, asthma, consumption,--all these things, and many more, a child may inherit; but acquired criminality, never. Be quite easy on that point." "My desire is that the child may become as perfect a gentleman at all points as his--as my husband." "Why should he not? He has no past to drag him down. You will train him and mould him as you please--exactly as you please." "You have not told me anything about the mother, except that she is in want." "Why should you learn her name, or she yours?" "I have no desire to learn her name. I was thinking whether she is the kind of woman to feel the loss of her child." The doctor, as yet inexperienced in the feminine nature, marvelled at this sympathy with the mother whose child the lady was buying. "Well," he said, "she is a young woman--of respectable character, I believe; good looking; in her speech something of a cockney, if I understand that dialect." "The more respectable she is, the more she will feel the loss of her child." "Yes; but there is another consideration. This poor creature has a husband who has deserted her." "Then her child should console her." "Her husband is a comedian--actor--singing fellow,--a chap who asks for nothing but enjoyment. As for wife and children, they may look out for themselves. When I saw him, I read desertion in his face; in his wife's face, it was easy to read neglect." "Poor creature!" "Now he's gone--deserted her. Nothing will do but she must go in search of him. Partly for money to help her along, partly because the workhouse is her only refuge, she sells her baby." The lady was silent for a while, then she sighed. "Poor creature! There are, then, people in the world as unhappy as I myself?" "If that is any consolation, there are. Well, madam, you now know the whole history; and, as it doesn't concern you, nor the child, best forget it at once." "Poor mother!"