"No … I do not think he will do that. Somehow I have a feeling …
I am almost sure this time … he will not live."
"Why?" he demanded quickly.
"Fleurestine. You know what I told you."
"Rot! Besides, she only said he would be ill; she didn't pretend to see the outcome."
Again she shook her head.
"What I told you was not quite true. She told me he would not recover; she saw me dressed in black …"
"Good God! Why didn't you say so before?"
She gave him a shrewd glance.
"But, Arthur, you don't believe in these things."
"Well, I don't know. I don't say I disbelieve in them exactly. I—you might have said something before, you know," he explained in an injured tone.