"Read report to-day's papers about Maresfield Gardens fire. Write me
what you think about it.

"JACK OSBORNE."

I read it through again, then looked up at Dulcie, who still stood there
before me.

"Have the papers come?" I asked.

She glanced up at the clock.

"They won't be here just yet," she answered. "We don't get them before
midday, you know, and during these days they haven't arrived until lunch
time, owing to Christmas."

"You can read it if you like," I said, handing her the telegram, for I
had seen her glance at it inquisitively. "It will interest you
enormously."

She made a little grimace when she had read it.

"'Interest me enormously,'" she said contemptuously, crumpling up the
paper and tossing it into the grate. For some moments she did not speak.

"What fire was there at Maresfield Gardens?" she inquired suddenly, "and
why does he ask you what you think about it?"

"Ah, so it does interest you a little," I exclaimed, taking hold of her