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He did so, to the letter; and though, as the crocus followed the snowdropand the daffodil the crocus in Lucy's garden, the harbour-road was a notunpleasant place to walk in, Barnet's feet never trod its stones, muchless approached her door. He avoided a saunter that way as he would haveavoided a dangerous dram, and took his airings a long distance northward,among severely square and brown ploughed fields, where no other townsmancame. Sometimes he went round by the lower lanes of the borough, wherethe rope-walks stretched in which his family formerly had share, andlooked at the rope-makers walking backwards, overhung by apple-trees andbushes, and intruded on by cows and calves, as if trade had establisheditself there at considerable inconvenience to Nature.

One morning, when the sun was so warm as to raise a steam from the south-eastern slopes of those flanking hills that looked so lovely above theold roofs, but made every low-chimneyed house in the town as smoky asTophet, Barnet glanced from the windows of the town-council room for lackof interest in what was proceeding within. Several members of thecorporation were present, but there was not much business doing, and in afew minutes Downe came leisurely across to him, saying that he seldom sawBarnet now.

Barnet owned that he was not often present.

Downe looked at the crimson curtain which hung down beside the panes,reflecting its hot hues into their faces, and then out of the window. Atthat moment there passed along the street a tall commanding lady, in whomthe solicitor recognized Barnet's wife. Barnet had done the same thing,and turned away.

'It will be all right some day,' said Downe, with cheering sympathy.

'You have heard, then, of her last outbreak?'

Downe depressed his cheerfulness to its very reverse in a moment. 'No, Ihave not heard of anything serious,' he said, with as long a face as onenaturally round could be turned into at short notice. 'I only hear vaguereports of such things.'

'You may think it will be all right,' said Barnet drily. 'But I have adifferent opinion . . . No, Downe, we must look the thing in the face.Not poppy nor mandragora--however, how are your wife and children?'

Downe said that they were all well, thanks; they were out that morningsomewhere; he was just looking to see if they were walking that way. Ah,there they were, just coming down the street; and Downe pointed to thefigures of two children with a nursemaid, and a lady walking behind them.

'You will come out and speak to her?' he asked.

'Not this morning. The fact is I don't care to speak to anybody justnow.'

'You are too sensitive, Mr. Barnet. At school I remember you used to getas red as a rose if anybody uttered a word that hurt your feelings.'

Barnet mused. 'Yes,' he admitted, 'there is a grain of truth in that. Itis because of that I often try to make peace at home. Life would betolerable then at any rate, even if not particularly bright.'

'I have thought more than once of proposing a little plan to you,' saidDowne with some hesitation. 'I don't know whether it will meet yourviews, but take it or leave it, as you choose. In fact, it was my wifewho suggested it: that she would be very glad to call on Mrs. Barnet andget into her confidence. She seems to think that Mrs. Barnet is ratheralone in the town, and without advisers. Her impression is that yourwife will listen to reason. Emily has a wonderful way of winning thehearts of people of her own sex.'

'And of the other sex too, I think. She is a charming woman, and youwere a lucky fellow to find her.'

'Well, perhaps I was,' simpered Downe, trying to wear an aspect of beingthe last man in the world to feel pride. 'However, she will be likely tofind out what ruffles Mrs. Barnet. Perhaps it is some misunderstanding,you know--something that she is too proud to ask you to explain, or somelittle thing in your conduct that irritates her because she does notfully comprehend you. The truth is, Emily would have been more ready tomake advances if she had been quite sure of her fitness for Mrs. Barnet'ssociety, who has of course been accustomed to London people of goodposition, which made Emily fearful of intruding.'

Barnet expressed his warmest thanks for the well-intentioned proposition.There was reason in Mrs. Downe's fear--that he owned. 'But do let hercall,' he said. 'There is no woman in England I would so soon trust onsuch an errand. I am afraid there will not be any brilliant result;still I shall take it as the kindest and nicest thing if she will try it,and not be frightened at a repulse.'

When Barnet and Downe had parted, the former went to the Town Savings-Bank, of which he was a trustee, and endeavoured to forget his troublesin the contemplation of low sums of money, and figures in a network ofred and blue lines. He sat and watched the working-people making theirdeposits, to which at intervals he signed his name. Before he left inthe afternoon Downe put his head inside the door.

'Emily has seen Mrs. Barnet,' he said, in a low voice. 'She has got Mrs.Barnet's promise to take her for a drive down to the shore to-morrow, ifit is fine. Good afternoon!'

Barnet shook Downe by the hand without speaking, and Downe went away.