A few days after this my wife gave a little party, when amongst those invited I saw the names of Agnes and William Barrington. I asked, thinking of the old man, who they were. My wife seemed to know all about them.
"Oh! they are the eldest children of that old man who lives next door on the right You may have seen him. It's an awfully dull home for the children, poor things! He seldom goes anywhere with them, and never entertains. He is always busy, or ill, or something."
I asked her if she had ever spoken to him; but she had not—she had only met the children, who she was so sorry for.
"The mother is away," I remarked. "I suppose it's better when she is at home?"
My wife laughed. "She is never at home," she said, "They are separated—incompatibility of temper. One can hardly wonder when she was married to that——"
"You are uncharitable, dear," I said, smiling. "One cannot always help being dull, and he seemed, from the few minutes' talk I had with him, to be kind, and fond of his children."
