Mr. Clarkson assented gloomily.  “I’m trusting to you, George,” he remarked.

“How’d it be to forget to water the geraniums and let the birds die because they missed her so much?” suggested Mr. Smithson, after prolonged thought.

Mr. Clarkson shivered.

“It would be a hint,” said his friend.

Mr. Clarkson took some letters from the mantelpiece and held them up.  “She writes about them every day,” he said, briefly, “and I have to answer them.”

“She—­she don’t refer to your getting married, I suppose?” said his friend, anxiously.

Mr. Clarkson said “No.  But her sister does,” he added.  “I’ve had two letters from her.”

Mr. Smithson got up and paced restlessly up and down the room.  “That’s women all over,” he said, bitterly.  “They never ask for things straight out; but they always get ’em in roundabout ways.  She can’t do it herself, so she gets her sister to do it.”

Mr. Clarkson groaned.  “And her sister is hinting that she can’t leave the house where she spent so many happy years,” he said, “and says what a pleasant surprise it would be for Mrs. Phipps if she was to come home and find it done up.”

“That means you’ve got to live there when you’re married,” said his friend, solemnly.

Mr. Clarkson glanced round his comfortable room and groaned again.  “She asked me to get an estimate from Digson,” he said, dully.  “She knows as well as I do her sister hasn’t got any money.  I wrote to say that it had better be left till she comes home, as I might not know what was wanted.”

Mr. Smithson nodded approval.

“And Mrs. Phipps wrote herself and thanked me for being so considerate,” continued his friend, grimly, “and says that when she comes back we must go over the house together and see what wants doing.”

Mr. Smithson got up and walked round the room again.

“You never promised to marry her?” he said, stopping suddenly.

“No,” said the other.  “It’s all been arranged for me.  I never said a word.  I couldn’t tell Phipps I wouldn’t have her with them all standing round, and him thinking he was doing me the greatest favour in the world.”

“Well, she can’t name the day unless you ask her,” said the other.  “All you’ve got to do is to keep quiet and not commit yourself.  Be as cool as you can, and, just before she comes home, you go off to London on business and stay there as long as possible.”

Mr. Clarkson carried out his instructions to the letter, and Mrs. Phipps, returning home at the end of her visit, learned that he had left for London three days before, leaving the geraniums and birds to the care of Mr. Smithson.  From the hands of that unjust steward she received two empty bird-cages, together with a detailed account of the manner in which the occupants had effected their escape, and a bullfinch that seemed to be suffering from torpid liver.  The condition of the geraniums was ascribed to worms in the pots, frost, and premature decay.