"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!"