"Fancy forgetting it!" retorted Mr. Davis.

"I suppose she had a hot temper," said the old lady.

"'Ot temper?" said the other. "Yes." He leaned forward, and holding
his chilled hands over the fire stood for some time deep in thought.

"I don't know what it is," he said at last, "but there's a something
about you that reminds me of her. It ain't your voice, 'cos she had a
very nice voice--when she wasn't in a temper--and it ain't your face,
because--"

"Yes?" said Mrs. Smith, sharply. "Because it don't remind me of her."

"And yet the other day you said you recognized me at once," said the old
lady.

"I thought I did," said Mr. Davis. "One thing is, I was expecting to see
her, I s'pose."

There was a long silence.

"Well, I won't keep you," said Mrs. Smith at last, "and it's no good for
you to keep coming here to see her. She will never come here again.
I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you don't look over and above
respectable. Your coat is torn, your trousers are patched in a dozen
places, and your boots are half off your feet--I don't know what the
servant must think."

"I--I only came to look for my wife," said Mr. Davis, in a startled