“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 fortnight 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 grandmother,” 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. He was only restrained from proposing by a question of etiquette. Even a shilling book on the science failed to state the interval that should elapse between the death of one wife and the negotiations for another. It preferred instead to give minute instructions with regard to the eating of asparagus. In this dilemma he consulted Jernshaw. “Don’t know, I’m sure,” said that gentleman; “besides, it doesn’t matter.” “Doesn’t matter?” repeated Mr. Barrett. “Why not?”