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.

"They go like it sometimes," said Mr. Smithson, "and when they do nothing
will save 'em."

Mrs. Phipps thanked him. "It's very kind of you to take so much
trouble," she said, quietly; "some people would have lost the cages too
while they were about it."