"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. 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. Phipps was a widow. Could anything be more
suitable or desirable?

"Better let him choose," he said. "After all, he ought to be a good
judge."

Mrs. Phipps, after a faint protest, gave way, and Mr. Digson, smiling
broadly, mounted his perch again.

Mr. Clarkson's first idea was to consult Mr. Smithson; then he resolved
to wait upon events. The idea was fantastic to begin with, but, if
things did take such a satisfactory turn, he could not help reflecting