ke Bob
happy.' Wonderful pretty girl she used to be, didn't she?" Mr. Clarkson
assented.

"And I've no doubt she looks the same to you as ever she did," pursued
the sentimental Mr. Smithson. "That's the extraordinary part of it."

Mr. Clarkson turned and eyed him; removed the pipe from his mouth, and,
after hesitating a moment, replaced it with a jerk.

"She says she'd rather be faithful to his memory," continued the
persevering Mr. Smithson, "but his wishes are her law. She said so to my
missis only yesterday."

"Still, she ought to be considered," said Mr. Clarkson, shaking his head.
"I think that somebody ought to put it to her. She has got her feelings,
poor thing, and, if she would rather not marry again, she oughtn't to be
compelled to."

"Just what my missis did say to her," said the other; "but she didn't pay
much attention. She said it was Henry's wish and she didn't care what
happened to her now he's gone. Besides, if you come to think of it, what
else is she to do? Don't you worry, Bob; you won't lose her again."

Mr. Clarkson, staring at the fire, mused darkly. For thirty years he had
played the congenial part of the disappointed admirer but faithful
friend. He had intended to play it for at least fifty or sixty. He
wished that he had had the strength of mind to refuse the bequest when
the late Mr. Phipps first mentioned it, or taken a firmer line over the
congratulations of his friends. As it was, Little Molton quite
understood that after thirty years' waiting the faithful heart was to be
rewarded at last. Public opinion seemed to be that the late Mr. Phipps
had behaved with extraordinary generosity.

"It's rather late in life for me to begin," said Mr. Clarkson at last.

"Better late than never," said the cheerful Mr. Smithson.

"And something seems to tell me that I ain't long for this world,"
continued Mr. Clarkson, eyeing him with some disfavour.

"Stuff and nonsense," said Mr. Smithson. "You'll lose all them ideas as
soon as you're married. You'll have somebody to look after you and help
you spend your money."

Mr. Clarkson emitted a dismal groan, and clapping his hand over his mouth
strove to make it pass muster as a yawn. It was evident that the
malicious Mr. Smithson was deriving considerable pleasure from his
discomfiture--the pleasure natural to the father of seven over the
troubles of a comfortable bachelor. Mr. Clarkson, anxious to share his
troubles with somebody,