Relieved of the attentions of the Prentice family, he walked the streets a free man; and it was counted to him for righteousness that he never said a hard word about his wife. She had her faults, he said, but they were many thousand miles away, and he preferred to forget them. And he added, with some truth, that he owed her a good deal.
For a few months he had no reason to alter his opinion. Thanks to his presence of mind, the Prentice family had no terrors for him. Heart- whole and fancy free, he led the easy life of a man of leisure, a condition of things suddenly upset by the arrival of Miss Grace Lindsay to take up a post at the elementary school. Mr. Barrett succumbed almost at once, and, after a few encounters in the street and meetings at mutual friends', went to unbosom him-self to Mr. Jernshaw.
"What has she got to do with you?" demanded that gentleman.
"I—I'm rather struck with her," said Mr. Barrett.
"Struck with her?" repeated his friend, sharply. "I'm surprised at you. You've no business to think of such things."
"Why not?" demanded Mr. Barrett, in tones that were sharper still.
"Why not?" repeated the other. "Have you forgotten your wife and children?"
Mr. Barrett, who, to do him justice, had forgotten, fell back in his chair and sat gazing at him, open-mouthed.
"You're in a false position—in a way," said Mr. Jernshaw, sternly.
"False is no name for it," said Mr. Barrett, huskily. "What am I to do?"
"Do?" repeated the other, staring at him. "Nothing! Unless, perhaps, you send for your wife and children. I suppose, in any case, you would have to have the little ones if anything happened to her?"
Mr. Barrett grinned ruefully.
"Think it over," said Mr. Jernshaw. "I will," said the other, heartily.
He walked home deep in thought. He was a kindly man, and he spent some time thinking out the easiest death for Mrs. Barrett. He decided at last upon heart-disease, and a fort-night later all Ramsbury knew of the letter from Australia conveying the mournful intelligence. It was generally agreed that the mourning and the general behaviour of the widower left nothing to be desired.
"She's at peace at last," he said, solemnly, to Jernshaw.
"I believe you killed her," said his friend. Mr. Barrett started violently.
"I mean your leaving broke her heart," explained the other.
Mr. Barrett breathed easily again.
"It's your duty to look after the children," said Jernshaw, firmly. "And I'm not the only one that thinks so."
"They are with their grandfather and grand-mother," said Mr. Barrett.
Mr. Jernshaw sniffed.
"And four uncles and five aunts," added Mr. Barrett, triumphantly.
"Think how they would brighten up your house," said Mr. Jernshaw.
His friend shook his head. "It wouldn't be fair to their grandmother," he said, decidedly. "Besides, Australia wants population."
He found to his annoyance that Mr. Jernshaw's statement that he was not alone in his views was correct. Public opinion seemed to expect the arrival of the children, and one citizen even went so far as to recommend a girl he knew, as nurse.
Ramsbury understood at last that his decision was final, and, observing his attentions to the new schoolmistress, flattered itself that it had discovered the reason. It is possible that Miss Lindsay shared their views, but if so she made no sign, and on the many occasions on which she met Mr. Barrett on her way to and from school greeted him with frank cordiality. Even when he referred to his loneliness, which he did frequently, she made no comment.
He went into half-mourning at the end of two months, and a month later bore no outward signs of his loss. Added to that his step was springy and his manner youthful. Miss Lindsay was twenty-eight, and he persuaded himself that, sexes considered, there was no disparity worth mentioning.