"

"Celia, you've been reading the paper," I said in surprise. "I thought
you only read the _feuill_--the serial story. How did you know Inman was
playing Hobbs?"

"Well, Poulton or Carpentier or whoever it is. Look here, we're out of
coal. What shall I do?"

"That's easy. Order some more. What do you do when you're out of
nutmegs?"

"It depends if the nutmeg porters are striking."

"Striking! Good heavens, I never thought about that." I glanced hastily
down the headlines of my paper. "Celia, this is serious. I shall have to
think about this seriously. Will you order a fire in the library? I
shall retire to the library and think this over."

"You can retire to the library, but you can't have a fire there. There's
only just enough for the kitchen for two days."

"Then come and chaperon me in the kitchen. Don't leave me alone with
Jane. You and I and Jane will assemble round the oven and discuss the
matter. B-r-r-r. It's cold."

"Not the kitchen. I'll assemble with you round the electric light
somewhere. Come on."

We went into the library and rallied round a wax vesta. It was a
terribly cold morning.

"I can't think like this," I said, after fifteen seconds' reflection.
"I'm going to the office. There's a fire there, anyway."

"You wouldn't like a nice secretary," said Celia timidly, "or an office
girl, or somebody to lick the stamps?"

"I should never do any work if you came," I said, looking at her
thoughtfully. "Do come."

"No, I shall be all right. I've got shopping to do this morning, and I'm
going out to lunch, and I can pay some calls afterwards."

"Right. And you might find out what other people are doing, the people
you call on. And--er--if you _should_ be left alone in the drawing-room
a moment ... and the coal-box is at all adjacent.... You'll have your
muff with you, you see, and---- Well, I leave that to you. Do what you
can."

I had a good day at the office and have never been so loth to leave. I
always felt I should get to like my work some time. I arrived home again
about six. Celia was a trifle later, and I met her on the mat as she
came in.

"Any luck?" I asked eagerly, feeling in her muff. "Dash it, Celia, there
are nothing but hands here. Do you mean to say you didn't pick up
anything at all?"

"Only information," she said, leading the way into the drawing-room.
"Hallo, what's this? A fire!"

"A small involuntary contribution from the office. I brought it home
under my hat. W