“I was cast away with ’im,” said Mr. Wotton.  “Both of us was cast away with him.”

He indicated Mr. Davis with his hand, and the old lady, after a glance at that gentleman, turned to Mr. Wotton again.

“We was on that island for longer than I like to think of,” continued Mr. Wotton, who had a wholesome dread of dates.  “But we was rescued at last, and ever since then he has been hunting high and low for his wife.”

“It’s very interesting,” murmured the old lady; “but what has it got to do with me?”

Mr. Wotton gasped, and cast a helpless glance at his friend.

“You ain’t heard his name yet,” he said, impressively.  “Wot would you say if I said it was—­Ben Davis?”

“I should say it wasn’t true,” said the old lady, promptly.

“Not—­true?” said Mr. Wotton, catching his breath painfully.  “Wish I may die——­”

“About the desert island,” continued the old lady, calmly.  “The story that I heard was that he went off like a cur and left his young wife to do the best she could for herself.  I suppose he’s heard since that she has come in for a bit of money.”

“Money!” repeated Mr. Wotton, in a voice that he fondly hoped expressed artless surprise.  “Money!”

“Money,” said the old lady; “and I suppose he sent you two gentlemen round to see how the land lay.”

She was looking full at Mr. Davis as she spoke, and both men began to take a somewhat sombre view of the situation.

“You didn’t know him, else you wouldn’t talk like that,” said Mr. Wotton.  “I don’t suppose you’d know ’im if you was to see him now.”

“I don’t suppose I should,” said the other.

“P’r’aps you’d reckernize his voice?” said Mr. Davis, breaking silence at last.

Mr. Wotton held his breath, but the old lady merely shook her head thoughtfully.  “It was a disagreeable voice when his wife used to hear it,” she said at last.  “Always fault-finding, when it wasn’t swearing.”

Mr. Wotton glanced at his friend, and, raising his eyebrows slightly, gave up his task.  “Might ha’ been faults on both sides,” said Mr. Davis, gruffly.  “You weren’t all that you should ha’ been, you know.”

“Me!” said his hostess, raising her voice.

[Illustration:  “Don’t you know me, Mary?”]

“Yes, you,” said Mr. Davis, rising.  “Don’t you know me, Mary?  Why, I knew you the moment you come into the room.”

He moved towards her awkwardly, but she rose in her turn and drew back.

“If you touch me I’ll scream,” she said, firmly.  “How dare you.  Why, I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“It’s Ben Davis, ma’am; it’s ’im, right enough,” said Mr. Wotton, meekly.

“Hold your tongue,” said the old lady.

“Look at me!” commanded Mr. Davis, sternly.  “Look at me straight in the eye.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” said the other, sharply.  “Look you in the eye, indeed!  I don’t want to look in your eye.  What would people think?”