"Let 'em wonder," said the embarrassed Mr. Barrett. "I shall go and see all my old friends in their turn; casual-like. You might let 'em hear that I've been to see you before seeing them, and then, if they're thinking any nonsense, it'll be a hint. I'm stopping in town while the house is being decorated; next time I come down I'll call and see somebody else."
"That'll be another hint," assented Mr. Jernshaw. "Not that hints are much good to Mrs. Prentice."
"We'll see," said Mr. Barrett.
In accordance with his plan his return to his native town was heralded by a few short visits at respectable intervals. A sort of human butterfly, he streaked rapidly across one or two streets, alighted for half an hour to resume an old friendship, and then disappeared again. Having given at least half-a-dozen hints of this kind, he made a final return to Ramsbury and entered into occupation of his new house.
"It does you credit, Jernshaw," he said, gratefully. "I should have made a rare mess of it without your help."
"It looks very nice," admitted his friend. "Too nice."
"That's all nonsense," said the owner, irritably.
"All right," said Mr. Jernshaw. "I don't know the sex, then, that's all. If you think that you're going to keep a nice house like this all to yourself, you're mistaken. It's a home; and where there's a home a woman comes in, somehow."
Mr. Barrett grunted his disbelief.
"I give you four days," said Mr. Jernshaw.