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.

As a matter of fact, Mrs. Prentice and her daughter came on the fifth.
Mr. Barrett, who was in an easy-chair, wooing slumber with a handkerchief
over his head, heard their voices at the front door and the cordial
invitation of his housekeeper. They entered the room as he sat hastily
smoothing his rumpled hair.

"Good afternoon," he said, shaking hands.