"Oh, Mr. Wilson, how can you? What about my little house in Lambeth, and the dear boy—my son Alexander—you were so fond of?"
"You are raving."
"I'm as sane as you are," said the landlady, her color rising, "and a deal more respectable, if all were known. Why you should deny me to my face is more than I can make out, Mr. Wilson."
"My name is not Wilson."
"And I say it is, sir."
Both the man and the woman eyed one another firmly. Then Franklin motioned Mrs. Benker to a seat on a mossy bank.
"We can talk better sitting," said he. "I should like an explanation of this. You say that my name is Wilson, and that I boarded with you."
"At Lambeth. I'll take my oath to it."
"Had your boarder red hair and a red beard?"
"Red as a tomato. But you can buy wigs and false beards. Eyes, as I say, you cannot change."