MRS. ROBERTS. This Californian.

MR. ROBERTS. Oh!

MRS. ROBERTS. No _stranger_ could have been so patient
and--and--attentive; and I know that he recognized me from the first, and
he's just kept it up for a joke, so as to surprise us and have a good
laugh at us when we get to Boston. Of _course_ it's Willis.

MR. ROBERTS (doubtfully). Do you think so, my dear?

MRS. ROBERTS. I _know_ it. Didn't you notice how he looked at your
card? And I want you to go at once and speak to him, and turn the tables
on him.

MR. ROBERTS. I--I'd rather _not_, my dear.

MRS. ROBERTS. Why, Edward, what can you mean?

MR. ROBERTS. He's very violent. Suppose it _shouldn't_ be Willis?

MRS. ROBERTS. Nonsense! It _is_ Willis. Come, let's both go and just
tax him with it. He can't deny it, after all he's done for me. [She
pulls her reluctant husband toward THE CALIFORNIAN'S berth, and they each
draw a curtain.] Willis!

THE CALIFORNIAN (with plaintive endurance). Well, ma'am?

MRS. ROBERTS (triumphantly). There! I knew it was you all along. How