“Burn it!” cried Dick, sternly.
“Well, it’s your own, and you’ve a right to do as you like with it,” said Jerry; and the thin scrap of paper was held to the flame, burned till the man’s fingers were in danger, and then fell slowly to the floor as so much tinder.
“That was your news, then?”
“Not all of it.”
“What is it, then?”
Jerry picked up the bunch of flowers, sniffed at it, and set it down again in the water.
“She’s a-coming.”
“What?”
“That Miss Deane as sent these is coming in with Mr Lacey this afternoon.”
Dick rose up in his chair, staring excitedly.