“What was you about to remark?” inquired Mrs. Dowson, icily.
“I was going to say,” replied Mr. Foss—“I was going to say—I 'ad just got it on the tip o' my tongue to say, 'There you—you—you 'ad all the luck, Mr. Dowson.'”
He edged his chair a little nearer to Flora; but there was a chilliness in the atmosphere against which his high spirits strove in vain. Mr. Dowson remembered other predictions which had come true, notably the case of one man who, learning that he was to come in for a legacy, gave up a two-pound-a-week job, and did actually come in for twenty pounds and a bird-cage seven years afterwards.
“It's all nonsense,” protested Mr. Foss; “she only said all that because I made fun of her. You don't believe it, do you, Flora?”
“I don't see anything to laugh at,” returned Miss Dowson. “Fancy five years for bigamy! Fancy the disgrace of it!”
“But you're talking as if I was going to do it,” objected Mr. Foss. “I wish you'd go and 'ave your fortune told. Go and see what she says about you. P'r'aps you won't believe so much in fortune-telling afterwards.”
Mrs. Dowson looked up quickly, and then, lowering her eyes, took her hand out of the stocking she had been darning and, placing it beside its companion, rolled the pair into a ball.
“You go round to-morrow night, Flora,” she said, deliberately. “It sha'n't be said a daughter of mine was afraid to hear the truth about herself; father'll find the money.”