"Even supposing that my own child died at Birmingham, which is absolutely false—how will you connect the dead child's mother with the transaction which followed?"
"I don't know." Alice looked to Molly for support, and found none. Molly sat with cold, impassive face.
"When you have made it quite clear that you sold your child, you have then to fix your crime upon me as well. How will you do it? For I have letters showing where I was. The dates prove that I could not be in Birmingham at the time; they prove also that I was at my father's house in Scotland with my boy. Now, what have you got to say?"
"I want my son."
"Find your son," she replied, with a touch of temper. "He will be proud indeed of his mother when you do find him!"
Alice shuddered.
"I can do nothing to get that delusion out of your mind, then?"
"I want my son."
The woman's face was obstinate. She had left off crying and shaking; her eyes were fierce, her pale face was set; she meant fighting. The interview had been a failure.
"Who was the child that died?" Molly's question made all clear and plain again.