Molly pointed to the door. "Out!" she ordered. "Out, this instant!" He turned away reluctantly. "I thought better of you, Alice. Well, it's a wicked world. Go straight, and you go downhill. Chuck your respectability, and you're like the sparks that fly upward. When I came here the other day, I thought I was coming to see a respectable woman." "Out!" Molly advanced upon him. He placed a chair in front of him. "I know where your husband is--in the Marylebone Workhouse Infirmary; that's where he is. I shall go to him. 'Anthony,' I shall say, 'your wife's over here--with another man.'" Molly threw the chair down, and rushed at him. He fled before the fire and fury of those eyes. * * * * * "Molly dear," Alice asked, "am I hard-hearted? I have not a spark of feeling left for that man; it moved me not in the least to hear of his wretched plight. He is to me just a stranger--a bad man--suffering just punishment." "But his name is Woodroffe. That is strange, is it not?" "Yes; his name is Woodroffe. He belonged, he always said, to a highly respectable family. That fact did not make him respectable." "I wonder if he is any relation to Dick--my old friend, Dick Woodroffe. He's a musician now, and singer, too, and his father was a comedian before him." "Well, dear, I don't know. As for that man in the infirmary, I dare say John will go and see if anything can be done for him. He deserted me first, and divorced me afterwards, Molly, twenty-four years ago--for incompatibility of temper. That is the kind of man he is." CHAPTER XI. THE DOCTOR'S DINNER.