"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. "Ha, he was only after her money,"
he said, severely. "Good heavens! What's the matter?"

Mr. Smithson, who had sprung to his feet, made no reply, but stood for
some time incapable of speech.

"What--is--the--matter?" repeated Mr. Clarkson. "Ain't you well?"

Mr. Smithson swayed a little, and sank slowly back into his chair again.

"Room's too hot," said his astonished host.

Mr. 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. Smithson made a strange moaning noise, and, snatching his hat from
the table, clapped it on his head and made for the door. Mr. Clarkson