she at once appropriated it.

There was something about this showy girl that had attracted Gladys.
She was one of those rare people that have a personality, and although
this was a personality that Gladys was not at all sure she liked,
nevertheless she felt anxious to become more closely acquainted with
it. Both girls suddenly realized that they were staring hard at one
another. The girl with the personality was the first to speak. With a
smile that, while revealing a perfect set of white teeth, at the some
time revealed exceedingly thin lips, she remarked, "It's most
wearisome work waiting. I've been here nearly an hour. I shouldn't
stay any longer, only I've come from a distance. London is so hot and
stuffy, I detest it."

"Do you?" Gladys observed. "I don't. I find it so full of human
interest--indeed, of every kind of interest. Not that I should care to
live in it, but I like being near enough to come up several times a
week. I live at Kew."

"Then you're lucky!" the girl said, "I'd live at Kew if I could. But I
can't--I'm one of those unfortunate creatures who have to earn their
living."

"I sometimes wish I had to," Gladys remarked.

"Do you! Then you don't know much about it. It isn't all jam by a long
way. I loathe work. I've been spending my holiday at Kew. I've just
come from there."

"Are you by any chance Miss Rosenberg?" Gladys asked.

"That's my name," the girl replied with a look of astonishment. "How
do you know?"

Gladys explained. "I've just been to the Vicarage," she said, "and
Mrs. Sprat has told me about the verses. Did you really dream them?"

"Of course! I shouldn't have said so if I hadn't," Miss Rosenberg
replied angrily. "I don't tell crams. Besides, I've never composed a
line of poetry in my life. The verses were repeated to me in my sleep
by some occult agency--of that I am quite certain. They were so
vividly impressed on my mind that I had no difficulty at all in
remembering them--every one of them, and I got up and wrote them down.
Of course they must mean something."

Gladys was about to make some observation, when the commissionaire,
opening the door of the room, called out, "Miss Rosenberg;" whereupon,
with a sigh of relief, Miss Rosenberg took her departure.

CHAPTER X

HOW THE DREAMS WERE INTERPRETED

"Tell Miss Rosenberg I'll see her now," Matt Kelson said; and as he
leaned back in his luxurious chair with that dignity of self-assurance
only the man who is ri