There was an insufferable insolence in the smile, an insufferable
sneer in the compliment. Ethel had half extended a timid hand--Victor
had wholly extended a pleading one. She took not the slightest notice
of either. She lifted the white veil, and looked down at the sleeping
baby.

"The heir of Catheron Royals," she said, "and a fine baby no doubt, as
babies go. I don't pretend to be a judge. He is very bald and very
flabby, and very fat just at present. Whom does he resemble? Not you,
Victor. O, no doubt the distaff side of the house. What do you call
him, nurse? Not christened yet? But of course the heir of the house is
always christened at Catheron Royals. Victor, no doubt you'll follow
the habit of your ancestors, and give him his mother's family name.
_Your_ mother was the daughter of a marquis, and you are Victor St.
Albans Catheron. Good customs should not be dropped--let your son's
name be Victor _Dobb_ Catheron."

She laughed as she dropped the veil, a laugh that made all the blood
in Sir Victor's body tingle in his face. But he stood silent. And it
was Ethel who, to the surprise of every one, her husband included,
turned upon Miss Catheron with flashing eyes and flushing cheeks.

"And suppose, he is christened Victor Dobb Catheron, what then? It is
an honest English name, of which none of my family have ever had
reason to feel ashamed. My husband's mother may have been the daughter
of a marquis--my son's mother is the daughter of a tradesman--the name
that has been good enough for me will be good enough for him. I have
yet to learn there is any disgrace in honest trade."