the telegraph when occupied on other work.

Suddenly, however, the telegraphist's pencil paused.

"Hello!" he said. "Theodore Siddle! That's the chemist opposite,
isn't it!"

"Yes," said Doris, suspending her calculations at mention of the name.

"Well, his mother's dead."

"Dead?" she echoed vacantly. Somehow, it had never hitherto dawned on her
that the chemist might possess relatives in some part of the country.

"That's what it says," went on the other. "'Regret inform you your mother
died this morning. Superintendent, Horton Asylum.'"

"In an asylum, too," said the girl, speaking at random.

"Yes. Horton is the place for epileptic lunatics, near Epsom, you know."

"I didn't know. Does it mean that--that she was an epileptic lunatic?"

"So I should imagine, from the wording. If a nurse, or a matron, they'd
surely describe her as such."

"I suppose we ought not to discuss Mr. Siddle's telegram," said Doris,
after a pause.

"Well, no. But where's the harm? I wouldn't have yelled out the news if