Slowly but surely his fetters were made secure. Two days later the widow departed to spend six weeks with a sister; but any joy that he might have felt over the circumstance was marred by the fact that he had to carry her bags down to the railway station and see her off. The key of her house was left with him, with strict injunctions to go in and water her geraniums every day, while two canaries and a bullfinch had to be removed to his own house in order that they might have constant attention and company.
"She's doing it on purpose," said Mr. Smithson, fiercely; "she's binding you hand and foot."
Mr. Clarkson assented gloomily. "I'm trusting to you, George," he remarked.
"How'd it be to forget to water the geraniums and let the birds die because they missed her so much?" suggested Mr. Smithson, after prolonged thought.
Mr. Clarkson shivered.
"It would be a hint," said his friend.
Mr. Clarkson took some letters from the mantelpiece and held them up. "She writes about them every day," he said, briefly, "and I have to answer them."
"She—she don't refer to your getting married, I suppose?" said his friend, anxiously.
Mr. Clarkson said "No. But her sister does," he added. "I've had two letters from her."
Mr. Smithson got up and paced restlessly up and down the room. "That's women all over," he said, bitterly. "They never ask for things straight out; but they always get 'em in roundabout ways. She can't do it herself, so she gets her sister to do it."