'Ah-yah!' she muttered. 'Ringa, ringa!' and shook her head.
He shrugged peevishly:—
'What do you mean, old hag?'
'Ringa!' she repeated: 'no ringa, no fortuna.'
He snatched his hand away.
'What ring, thou cursed harridan?'
She shook her head again.
'No know. Ringa—I see it—green cat-stone—hold off Fortuna. Get, and she change.'
He gnawed his lip, frowning and wondering. There was a ring in question, certainly. Could it be possible its possession was connected somehow with his personal fortunes? If that were so, here was a veritable Pythoness.
Her eyes stared dæmonic: she thrust out a finger, pointing:—