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Updated: May 5, 2025
He left her one day painting a door, while the attentive Digson guided the brush, and walked homewards smiling. "Morning!" said a voice behind him. "Morning, Bignell," said Mr. Clarkson. "When when is it to be?" inquired his friend, walking beside him. Mr. Clarkson frowned. "When is what to be?" he demanded, disagreeably. Mr. Bignell lowered his voice.
I was just giving you the tip, but if you know better why, there's nothing more to be said. She'll be riding in her carriage and pair in six months, anyhow; the richest woman in Little Molton." Mr. Clarkson stopped short and eyed him in perplexity. "Digson got a bit sprung one night and told me," said Mr. Bignell. "She don't know it herself yet uncle on her mother's side in America.
She might know at any moment." "But but how did Digson know?" inquired the astonished Mr. Clarkson. "He wouldn't tell me," was the reply. "But it's good enough for him. What do you think he's after? Her? And mind, don't let on to a soul that I told you." He walked on, leaving Mr. Clarkson standing in a dazed condition in the centre of the foot-path.
Phipps was anything but a child. Mr. Clarkson admitted cheerfully that Mr. Digson was a younger and better- looking man than himself a more suitable match in every way. And, so far as he could judge, Mrs. Phipps seemed to think so. At any rate, she had ceased to make the faintest allusion to any tie between them.
Phipps will let me advise her, I'll make this house so she won't know it before I've done with it." "Mr. Digson has been very kind," said Mrs. Phipps, reproachfully. "Not at all, ma'am," said the builder, softly. "Anything I can do to make you happy or comfortable will be a pleasure to me." Mr. Clarkson started again, and an odd idea sent his blood dancing. Digson was a widower; Mrs.
As hard a job as ever I had in my life." "But you didn't want her," said the amazed Mr. Smithson. "You told me so." "You misunderstood me," said Mr. Clarkson, coughing. "You jump at conclusions." Mr. Smithson sat staring at him. "I heard," he said at last, with an effort... "I heard that Digson was paying her attentions." Mr. Clarkson spoke without thought.
"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 could help her choose," he said, sharply. Mr. Digson came down from his perch. "Just what I said," he replied. "If Mrs.
As hard a job as ever I had in my life." "But you didn't want her," said the amazed Mr. Smithson. "You told me so." "You misunderstood me," said Mr. Clarkson, coughing. "You jump at conclusions." Mr. Smithson sat staring at him. "I heard," he said at last, with an effort... "I heard that Digson was paying her attentions." Mr. Clarkson spoke without thought.
She might know at any moment." "But but how did Digson know?" inquired the astonished Mr. Clarkson. "He wouldn't tell me," was the reply. "But it's good enough for him. What do you think he's after? Her? And mind, don't let on to a soul that I told you." He walked on, leaving Mr. Clarkson standing in a dazed condition in the centre of the foot-path.
Smithson, staring straight before him, nodded. "As I was saying," resumed Mr. Clarkson, in the low tones of confidence, "Digson was after her money. Of course her money don't make any difference to me, although, perhaps, I may be able to do something for friends like you. It's from an uncle in America on her mother's " Mr.
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