know what
business is."

"It's very thoughtful of him," said Mrs. Phipps. "Very."

"Thoughtful!" repeated Mr. Smithson.

"He has gone away for a time out of consideration for me," said the
widow. "As things are, it is a little bit awkward for us to meet much at
present."

"I don't think he's gone away for that at all," said the other, bluntly.

Mrs. Phipps shook her head. "Ah, you don't know him as well as I do,"
she said, fondly. "He has gone away on my account, I feel sure."

Mr. Smithson screwed his lips together and remained silent.

"When he feels that it is right and proper for him to come back," pursued
Mrs. Phipps, turning her eyes upwards, "he will come. He has left his
comfortable home just for my sake, and I shall not forget it."

Mr. Smithson coughed-a short, dry cough, meant to convey incredulity.

"I shall not do anything to this house till he comes back," said Mrs.
Phipps. "I expect he would like to have a voice in it. He always used
to admire it and say how comfortable it was. Well, well, we never know
what is before us."

Mr. Smithson repeated the substance of the interview to Mr. Clarkson by
letter, and in the lengthy correspondence that followed kept him posted
as to the movements of Mrs. Phipps. By dint of warnings and entreaties
he kept the bridegroom-elect in London for three months. By that time
Little Molton was beginning to talk.

"They're beginning to see how the land lays," said Mr. Smithson, on the
evening of his friend's return, "and if you keep quiet and do as I tell
you she'll begin to see it too. As I said before, she can't name the day
till you ask her."

Mr. Clarkson agreed, and the following morning, when he called upon Mrs.
Phipps at her request, his manner was so distant that she attributed it
to ill-health following business worries and the atmosphere of London.
In the front parlour Mr. Digson, a small builder and contractor, was busy
whitewashing.

"I thought we might as well get on with that," said Mrs. Phipps; "there
is only one way of doing whitewashing, and the room has got to be done.
To-morrow Mr. Digson will bring up some papers, and, if you'll come
round, you can help me choose."

Mr. Clarkson hesitated. "Why not choose 'em yourself?" he said at last.

"Just what I told her," said Mr. Digson, stroking his black beard.
"What'll please you will be sure to please him, I says; and if it don't
it ought to."

Mr. Clarkson started. "Perhaps you