Mr. Barrett laughed. “I’m not marrying,” he said, with conviction.
“Seen anything of Miss Prentice yet?” inquired Mr. Jernshaw.
“No,” said the other, with a slight flush. “Why?”
“She’s still single,” said the grocer.
“What of it?” demanded Mr. Barrett, with warmth. “What of it?”
“Nothing,” said Mr. Jernshaw, slowly. “Nothing; only I——”
“Well?” said the other, as he paused.
“I—there was an idea that you went to Australia to—to better your condition,” murmured the grocer. “That—that you were not in a position to marry—that——”
“Boy and girl nonsense,” said Mr. Barrett, sharply. “Why, it’s fifteen years ago. I don’t suppose I should know her if I saw her. Is her mother alive?”
“Rather!” said Mr. Jernshaw, with emphasis. “Louisa is something like what her mother was when you went away.”