Mr. Bignell lowered his voice. “You'll lose her if you ain't careful,” he said. “Mark my words. Can't you see Digson's little game?”
Mr. Clarkson shrugged his shoulders.
“He's after her money,” said the other, with a cautious glance around.
“Money?” said the other, with an astonished laugh. “Why, she hasn't got any.”
“Oh, all right,” said Mr. Bignell. “You know best of course. I was just giving you the tip, but if you know better—why, there's nothing more to be said. She'll be riding in her carriage and pair in six months, anyhow; the richest woman in Little Molton.”
Mr. Clarkson stopped short and eyed him in perplexity.
“Digson got a bit sprung one night and told me,” said Mr. Bignell. “She don't know it herself yet—uncle on her mother's side in America. She might know at any moment.”
“But—but how did Digson know?” inquired the astonished Mr. Clarkson.