her?"

"That ain't the question," said the other. "She's got a home and money.
It don't matter about looks; and, wot's more, she ain't bound to keep
you. If you take my advice, you won't dream of letting her know you run
away from her. Say you was cast away at sea, and when you came back
years afterwards you couldn't find her."

Mr. Davis pondered for some time in sulky silence.

"P'r'aps it would be as well," he said at last; "but I sha'n't stand no
nonsense, mind."

"If you like I'll come with you," said Mr. Wotton. "I ain't got nothing
to do. I could tell 'er I was cast away with you if you liked. Anything
to help a pal."

Mr. Davis took two inches of soiled clay pipe from his pocket and puffed
thoughtfully.

"You can come," he said at last. "If you'd only got a copper or two we
could ride; it's down Clapham way."

Mr. Wotton smiled feebly, and after going carefully through his pockets
shook his head and followed his friend outside.

"I wonder whether she'll be pleased?" he remarked, as they walked slowly
along. "She might be--women are funny creatures--so faithful. I knew
one whose husband used to knock 'er about dreadful, and after he died she
was so true to his memory she wouldn't marry again."