He catches hold of his wife's writing-table to wheel it near. By some
clumsiness his foot catches in one of its spidery claws, and with a
crash it topples over. Away goes the writing case, flying open and
scattering the contents far and wide. The crash shocks baby's nerves,
baby begins to cry, and the new-made mamma flies to her angel's side.

"I say!" Sir Victor cries. "Look here! Awkward thing of me to do, eh,
Ethel? Writing case broken too. Never mind, I'll pick 'em up."

He goes down on his knees boyishly, and begins gathering them up.
Letters, envelopes, wax, seals, pens and pencils. He flings all in a
heap in the broken case. Lady Catheron cooing to baby, looks smilingly
on. Suddenly he comes to a full stop.

Comes to a full stop, and holds something before him as though it were
a snake. A very harmless snake apparently--the photograph of a young
and handsome man. For fully a minute he gazes at it utterly aghast.
"Good Heaven!" his wife hears him say.

Holding baby in her arms she glances at him. The back of the picture
is toward her, but she recognizes it. Her face turns ashen gray--she
moves round and bends it over baby.

"Ethel!" Sir Victor says, his voice stern, "what does this mean?"

"What does what mean? Hush-h-h baby, darling. Not so loud, Victor,
please. I want to get babe asleep."

"How comes Juan Catheron's picture here?"