The Admiral (who had married late in life) resided with his wife and
young family in a neat villa just outside the town, where his hobby was
to grow pelargoniums. The photographer passed the gate daily on his way
to and from the prison, and was usually hailed and catechised on his
progress.

His patience with the recalcitrant prisoners delighted the Admiral, who
more than once assured his wife that Smithers was an intelligent fellow
and quite an artist in his way. "I wonder how he manages it," said Mrs.
Trewbody. "He told baby last autumn that a little bird would fly out of
the camera when he took off the cap, and everyone allows that the result
is most lifelike. But I don't like the idea, and I think it may injure
his trade."

The Admiral could not always follow his wife's reasoning. "What is it
you dislike?" he asked.

"Well, it's not nice to think of oneself going into the same camera he
has been using on those wretched prisoners. It's sentiment, I daresay;
but I had the same feeling when he stuck up Harry's photograph in his
showcase at the railway station, among all kinds of objectionable
persons, and I requested him to remove it."

The Admiral laughed indulgently, being one of those men who find a
charm, even a subtle flattery, in their wives' silliness.

"I agree with you," he said, "that it's not pleasant to be exposed to
public gaze among a crowd of people one would never think of knowing.
I don't suppose it would actually encourage familiarity; at the same
time there's an air of promiscuity about it--I won't say disrespect--