"Better not be too sudden with her," he whispered. "You don't want her
to faint, or anything of that sort. Don't let 'er know who you are at
first; let her find it out for herself."

Mr. Davis, who was also suffering from the stiff grandeur of his
surroundings, nodded.

"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."