"What do you mean?" asked Iris sharply. "Have you a third admirer?"
"According to gran I have," said Milly with a shiver; "the third admirer is Death, my dear. I am to be--murdered!"
Iris rose so quickly that her work rolled on to the floor. She looked at Milly in a scared sort of way. "Are you out of your mind?" she said nervously.
"No; I'm only telling you what Gran Jimboy read in my hand. But I don't believe in palmistry; do you, Iris?"
"No, I don't," said Miss Link contemptuously. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, letting Gran Jimboy play on your fears. Did she say you would die?"
"Yes; that I should be murdered. Ugh!" and Milly shivered again.
"You don't believe such rubbish?"
Miss Lester jumped up and threw the hat she had been trimming on the sofa. "I don't know," she said, pacing to and fro. "Sometimes I do; sometimes I don't. I wish you would not talk of death! I hate it!" Then, after a pause, "I'm going to bed," said she.
Iris arrested her at the door. "Milly, do be sensible, and give up these wild ideas."
"Mr. Lovel, I suppose?"