"P'r'aps you'd better start, in case she reckernizes my voice," he said, slowly. "Pitch it in strong about me and 'ow I was always wondering what had 'appened to her."
"You're in luck, that's wot you are," said his friend, enviously. "I've only seen furniture like thiss in shop windows before. H'sh! Here she comes."
He started, and both men tried to look at their ease as a stiff rustling sounded from the stairs. Then the door opened and a tall, stoutly-built old lady with white hair swept into the room and stood regarding them.
Mr. Davis, unprepared for the changes wrought by thirty-five years, stared at her aghast. The black silk dress, the gold watch-chain, and huge cameo brooch did not help to reassure him.
"Good-good afternoon, ma'am," said Mr. Wotton, in a thin voice.
The old lady returned the greeting, and, crossing to a chair and seating herself in a very upright fashion, regarded him calmly.
"We—we called to see you about a dear old pal—friend, I mean," continued Mr. Wotton; "one o' the best. The best."
"Yes?" said the old lady.
"He's been missing," said Mr. Wotton, watching closely for any symptoms of fainting, "for thir-ty-five years. Thir-ty-five years ago-very much against his wish-he left 'is young and handsome wife to go for a sea v'y'ge, and was shipwrecked and cast away on a desert island."
"Yes?" said the old lady again.