"And _I_ should imagine that the necessary transfers--and--and things
would be much better put in hand at once. Delay seems to me quite
unnecessary."
She paused for Mr. Rigg's opinion--quite a friendly opinion, of course,
without price.
"Pardon me," said that lawyer, driven into a corner at last, "but are you
consulting me on behalf of the late Squire's executor, Mr. Glynde, or on
your own account?"
"Oh!" replied Mrs. Agar, drawing herself up with a deprecating little
laugh, "I did not intend it to be a consultation at all. I happened to be
passing, that was all. You see, Mr. Rigg, Mr. Glynde does not know
anything about these matters. Clergymen are so stupid."
"Seems to be afraid," Mr. Rigg was reflecting behind his pleasant mask,
"of the young man coming alive again."
Mrs. Agar was like a child in many ways, more especially in her unbounded
belief in her own cunning. She actually imagined herself to be a match
for this man, who had been trained in the ways of duplicity all his life.
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