The news of Wynne’s birth was conveyed to Mr. Rendall on his doorstep at an inopportune moment. He had pinched his fingers in the front gate, and followed this misfortune with the discovery that his latchkey had been left in another pair of trousers. Few things irritate a man more than ringing his own door bell, and Mr. Rendall was no exception to the rule. In common with the general view, he conceived that the parlour-maid kept him waiting unduly. “I cannot think what you girls do all day long,” he said sharply, when the door opened. To this Lorna replied: “Oh, sir, if you please, the baby has come.” “Well, that won’t alter the price of bacon,” ejaculated Mr. Rendall, and pushed past her into the hall. But notwithstanding this attitude of _nonchaloir_, he was genuinely put about by the news. He did not admit the right of babies to take liberties with their time-sheets. To do so was an impertinent indiscretion. The other two children had not behaved in this manner, and he saw no reason why a special latitude should be extended to the new arrival. Already he had made preparations for being from home when this troublesome period arrived, and now, by a caprice of nature, he was involved in all the discomfort that falls to the lot of a husband at such a time. It was not part of his nature to take a secondary place in his own household, and he esteemed that to do so was derogatory to his position. Throwing his hat on the hall chair he entered the drawing-room, where he received a rude surprise. It was his habit, before setting out to the City, to finish his breakfast coffee by the drawing-room fire. To his disgust and irritation he found the empty cup, a crumpled newspaper, and his soft slippers just as he had left them that morning. Mightily angered, Mr. Rendall moved toward the bell, when his eye fell upon a basket in the grate. With the intention of throwing cup, newspaper, shoes and basket into the garden, he crossed the room, but as he stooped to carry out his resolve, a faint, flickering wail came to his ears. The contents of the basket moved ever so slightly—a fold of blanket turned outward, and the thin, elfin face of his youngest son was revealed. At that moment the nurse came into the room. She hesitated at the sight of Mr. Rendall, then stepped forward with, “Oh, it’s you, sir. Hush, that’s the baby.” “D’you imagine I thought it was a packet of envelopes?” retorted Mr. Rendall. “But why not put him in the nursery?” “The other children have only just been sent to their aunt’s, sir, and the nursery isn’t quite ready. Poor little thing’s very weakly, and has to be near a good fire.” “H’m,” said Mr. Rendall. “I see! Boy, eh? Not much good—weakly boys!” “Oh, but he’ll soon strengthen up.” “Hope so. Yes. Doctor’s bills—no good! Mrs. Rendall all right?” “Going along very nicely, I’m glad to say.” “H’m. Yes. When did all this happen?” “About three o’clock.”