“I oughtn't to have told you, George,” said Mr. Clarkson, with great satisfaction. “It'll only make you miserable. It's just one o' the might ha' beens.”
Mr. Smithson, with his back to the fire and his hands twisted behind him, stood with his eyes fixed in thought.
“It's rather cool of Phipps,” he said, after a long silence; “rather cool, I think, to go out of the world and just leave his wife to you to look after. Some men wouldn't stand it. You're too easy-going, Bob, that's what's the matter with you.”
Mr. Clarkson sighed.
“And get took advantage of,” added his friend.
“It's all very well to talk,” said Mr. Clarkson, “but what can I do? I ought to have spoke up at the time. It's too late now.”
“If I was you,” said his friend very earnestly, “and didn't want to marry her, I should tell her so. Say what you like it ain't fair to her you know. It ain't fair to the pore woman. She'd never forgive you if she found it out.”
“Everybody's taking it for granted,” said the other.