“Go away,” he said; “this is not the nursery!” “I thought you might like to look at the baby, sir!” the woman replied. Sir Wilton stared at the blanket. “It might comfort you, I thought!” she went on, with a look he felt to be strange. Her eyes were hard and dry, red with recent tears, and glowing with suppressed fire. Sir Wilton was courteous to most women, especially such as had no claim upon him, but cherished respect for none. It was odd therefore that he should now feel embarrassed. From some cause the machinery of his self-content had possibly got out of gear; anyhow no answer came ready. He had not the smallest wish to see the child, but was yet, perhaps, unwilling to appear brutal. In the meantime, the woman, with gentle, moth-like touch, was parting and turning back the folds of the blanket, until from behind it dawned a tiny human face, whose angel was suppliant, it may be, for the baptism of a father's first gaze. The woman held out the child to sir Wilton, as if expecting him to take it. He started to his feet, driving the chair a yard behind him, stuck his hands in his pockets, and, with a face of disgust, cried-- “Great God! take the creature away.” But he could not lift his eyes from the face nested in the blanket. It seemed to fascinate him. The woman's eyes flared, but she did not speak. “Uglier than sin!” he half hissed, half growled. “--I suppose the animal is mine, but you needn't bring it so close to me! Take it away--and keep it away. I will send for it when I want it--which won't be in a hurry! My God! How hideous a thing may be, and yet human!” “He is as God made him!” remarked the nurse, quietly for very wrath. “Or the devil!” suggested his father. Then the woman looked like a tigress. She opened her mouth, but closed it again with a snap. “I may say what I like of my own!” said the father. “Tell me the goblin is none of mine, and I will be as respectful to him as you please. Prove it, and I will give you fifty pounds. He's hideous! He's damnably ugly! Deny it if you can.” The woman held her peace. She could not, even to herself, call him a child pleasant to look at. She gazed on him for a moment with pitiful, protective eyes, then covered his face as if he were dead, but she did not move. “Why don't you go?” said the baronet.