“Still, she might make a mistake sometimes,” said Mr. Dowson, faintly. “Might get mixed up, so to speak.”
“Never!” said Mrs. Dowson, firmly.
“Never!” echoed Flora and Mr. Lippet.
Mr. Dowson heaved a big sigh, and his eye wandered round the room. It lighted on Mr. Foss.
“She's an old humbug,” said that gentleman. “I've a good mind to put the police on to her.”
Mr. Dowson reached over and gripped his hand. Then he sighed again.
“Of course, it suits Charlie Foss to say so,” said Mrs. Dowson; “naturally he'd say so; he's got reasons. I believe every word she says. If she told me I was coming in for a fortune I should believe her; and if she told me I was going to have misfortunes I should believe her.”
“Don't say that,” shouted Mr. Dowson, with startling energy. “Don't say that. That's what she did say!”
“What?” cried his wife, sharply. “What are you talking about?”
“I won eighteenpence off of Bob Stevens,” said her husband, staring at the table. “Eighteenpence is 'er price for telling the future only, and, being curious and feeling I'd like to know what's going to 'appen to me, I went in and had eighteenpennorth.”