changed much," she added, looking from him to her daughter. "And I think
you did quite well not to write. I think it was much the best."

Mr. Barrett sought for a question: a natural, artless question, that
would neutralize the hideous suggestion conveyed by this remark, but it
eluded him. He sat and gazed in growing fear at Mrs. Prentice.

"I--I couldn't write," he said at last, in desperation; "my wife----"

"Your what?" exclaimed Mrs. Prentice, loudly.

"Wife," said Mr. Barrett, suddenly calm now that he had taken the plunge.
"She wouldn't have liked it."

Mrs. Prentice tried to control her voice. I never heard you were
married!" she gasped. "Why isn't she here?"

"We couldn't agree," said the veracious Mr. Barrett. "She was very
difficult; so I left the children with her and----"

"Chil----" said Mrs. Prentice, and paused, unable to complete the word.

"Five," said Mr. Barrett, in tones of resignation. "It was rather a
wrench, parting with them, especially the baby. He got his first tooth
the day I left."

The information fell on deaf ears. Mrs. Prentice, for once in her life
thoroughly at a loss, sat trying to collect her scattered faculties. She
had come out prepared for a hard job, but not an impossible one. All
things considered, she took her defeat with admirable composure.