"Here indeed,"--the Canon was more impressive,--"here indeed is an object-lesson in the effects of crime! Is it possible that to _this_ Man's passions can degrade his divinely inherited features? Were it not altogether too horrible, I would have this picture framed and glazed and hung up in every cottage home in the land." "My dear fellow," interrupted Sir Felix, "we cannot possibly let this monstrosity go up to Whitehall as representative of the inmates of Tregarrick Gaol! It would mean an inquiry on the spot. It would even reflect upon _us_. Ours is a decent county, as counties go, and I protest it shall not, with my consent, be injured by any such libel." Mr. Smithers handed up photograph No. 2. "This looks better," began Sir Felix; and with that he gave a slight start, and passed the photograph to the Canon. The Canon, too, started, and stole a quick glance at Sir Felix: their eyes met. "It certainly is singular"--stammered Sir Felix. "I fancied--without irreverence--But you detected it too?" he wound up incoherently. "May I have a look?" The Admiral peered over the Canon's hand, who, however, did not relinquish the photograph but turned on Smithers with sudden severity. "I presume, sir, this is not an audacious joke?" "I assure your Worship--" protested the photographer. "I had some thoughts of tearing it up, but thought it wouldn't be honest." "You did rightly," the Canon answered; "but, now that we have seen it, I have no such scruple." He tore the print across, and across again. "Even in this," he said, with a glance at the Admiral, who winced, "we may perhaps read a lesson, or at least a warning, that man's presumption in extending the bounds of his knowledge--or, as I should prefer to call it, his curiosity--may--er--bring him face to face with--" But the Canon's speech tailed off as he regarded the torn pieces of cardboard in his hand. He felt that the others had been seriously perturbed and were not listening: he himself was conscious of a shock too serious for that glib emollient--usually so efficacious--the sound of his own voice. He perceived that it did not impose even on the photographer. An uncomfortable silence fell on the room. Sir Felix was the first to recover. "Put it in the waste-paper basket: no, in the fire!" he commanded, and turned to Smithers. "Surely between these two extremes--" "I was on the point of suggesting that your Worships would find No. 3 more satisfactory," the photographer interrupted, forgetting his manners in his anxiety to restore these three gentlemen to their ease. His own discomfort was acute, and he overacted, as a man will who has unwittingly surprised a State secret and wishes to assure everyone of his obtuseness. Sir Felix studied No. 3. "This appears to me a very ordinary photograph. Without being positively displeasing, the face is one you might pass in the street any day, and forget."