"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 rich can maintain, it was hard to realise that he and the Matt Kelson of a year ago were the same. A year ago he had been a poor, underpaid, ill nourished pen-driver, with all the odious marks of a pen-driver's servility thick upon him. It was true he had been fastidious as to his appearance--that is to say, as fastidious as any one can be, who has to buy clothes ready made and can only afford to pay a few dollars for them; that he had sacrificed meals to wear white shirts--boiled shirts as one called them in San Francisco--and to get his things got up decently at a respectable laundry; but his teeth in those days did not receive the attention they ought to have received (he could not afford a dentist), the tobacco he smoked was often offensive; and there were to be found in him sundry other details that one usually finds in clerks, and in most other people who literally have to fight for a living.