imself off as me?" he demanded. "'Cos if he
is I'll 'ave you both up for bigamy."

"Certainly not."

"But--but--"

Mr. Davis turned and looked blankly at his friend. Mr. Wotton met his
gaze with dilated eyes.

"You say you recognize me as your wife?" said the old lady.

"Certainly," said Mr. Davis, hotly.

"It's very curious," said the other--"very. But are you sure? Look
again."

Mr. Davis thrust his face close to hers and stared hard. She bore his
scrutiny without flinching.

"I'm positive certain," said Mr. Davis, taking a breath.

"That's very curious," said the old lady; "but, then, I suppose we are a
bit alike. You see, Mrs. Davis being away, I'm looking after her house
for a bit. My name happens to be Smith."

Mr. Davis uttered a sharp exclamation, and, falling back a step, stared
at her open-mouthed.

"We all make mistakes," urged Mr. Wotton, after a long silence, "and
Ben's sight ain't wot it used to be. He strained it looking out for a
sail when we was on that desert----"

"When--when'll she be back?" inquired Mr. Davis, finding his voice at
last.

The old lady affected to look puzzled. "But I thought you were certain
that I was your wife?" she said, smoothly.

"My mistake," said Mr. Davis, ruefully. "Thirty-five years is a long
time and people change a bit; I have myself. For one thing, I must say
I didn't expect to find 'er so stout."

"Stout!" repeated the other, quickly.

"Not that I mean you're too stout," said Mr. Davis, hurriedly--"for
people that like stoutness, that is. My wife used to 'ave a very good
figger."

Mr. Wotton nodded. "He used to rave about it on that des----"

"When will she be back?" inquired Mr. Davis, interrupting him.

Mrs. Smith shook her head. "I can't say," she replied, moving towards
the door. "When she's off holidaying, I never know when she'll return.
Shall I tell her you called?"

"Tell her I----certainly," said Mr. Davis, with great vehemence. "I'll
come in a week's time and see if she's back."

"She might be away for months," said the old lady, moving slowly to the
passage and opening the street door. "Good-afternoon."

She closed the door behind them and stood watching them through the glass
as they passed disconsolately into the street. Then she went back into
the parlour, and standing before the mantelpiece, looked long and
earnestly into the mirror.

Mr. Davis returned a week later--alone, and, pausing at the gate, g