"Yes. This is an unexpected meeting, Miss Marigold! I haven't seen you since the fire," he said. "How lucky that you and your aunt escaped! I can't think how it was caused, except that your aunt perhaps dropped a match upstairs before going to bed."
"No, Mr. Boyne," she said. "It's a mystery. I'm glad, however, that auntie is recovering from the shock."
"Have you heard anything lately of Mr.—what is his name?—Durrant, isn't it?"
"Not a word. I can't think what has become of him. They've heard nothing at his office since his last telegram."
"Oh! I shouldn't worry. He told you in his message not to worry, you know," he said cheerfully.
Marigold distrusted the man, yet she remembered how she and Gerald had resolved, at all hazards, to penetrate the mystery surrounding him. She could not deny that he had always been polite and generous towards her, and her aunt would never have a more kind and considerate master.
"Come and have some lunch with me," he suggested suddenly, as he glanced at his watch. "I'm just going to have mine. And I want to talk over your aunt's future—what she is to do while my house is being rebuilt."
Marigold hesitated a few seconds. Then she replied:
"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Boyne, but my assistant is away ill, and we're most awfully busy in the bank to-day. I am only out for ten minutes this morning, I usually have half an hour."
"Then come somewhere and have dinner with me to-night."