"H'sh! yourself," she ses, shouting. "I've done nothing to be ashamed
of. I don't go to meet other people's husbands in a blue 'at with red
roses. I don't write 'em love-letters, and say 'H'sh!' to my wife when
she ventures to make a remark about it. I may work myself to skin and
bone for a man wot's old enough to know better, but I'm not going to be
trod on. Dorothy, indeed! I'll Dorothy 'er if I get the chance."

Mrs. Smithers, wot 'ad been listening with all her ears, jumped up, and
so did the skipper, and Mrs. Smithers came to the side in two steps.

"Did you say 'Dorothy,' ma'am?" she ses to my missis.

"I did," ses my wife. "She's been writing to my husband."

"It must be the same one," ses Mrs. Smithers. "She's been writing to
mine too."

The two of 'em stood there looking at each other for a minute, and then
my wife, holding the letter between 'er finger and thumb as if it was
pison, passed it to Mrs. Smithers.

"It's the same," ses Mrs. Smithers. "Was the envelope marked
'Private'?"

"I didn't see no envelope," ses my missis. "This is all I found."

Mrs. Smithers stepped on to the wharf and, taking 'old of my missis by
the arm, led her away whispering. At the same moment the skipper walked
across the deck and whispered to me.