Mr. Barrett assented with some eagerness, and stole a hopeful glance at her.
“You—you miss something,” continued Miss. Lindsay, in a faltering voice.
“I do,” said Mr. Barrett, with ardour.
“You miss”—the girl made an effort—“you miss the footsteps and voices of your little children.”
Mr. Barrett stopped suddenly in the street, and then, with a jerk, went blindly on.
“I’ve never spoken of it before because it’s your business, not mine,” continued the girl. “I wouldn’t have spoken now, but when you referred to your loneliness I thought perhaps you didn’t realize the cause of it.”
Mr. Barrett walked on in silent misery.
“Poor little motherless things!” said Miss Lindsay, softly. “Motherless and—fatherless.”
“Better for them,” said Mr. Barrett, finding his voice at last.
“It almost looks like it,” said Miss Lindsay, with a sigh.