"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." "Well, you're upset," said Mrs. Dowson, with a quick glance at him. "You get upstairs to bed." "I'd sooner stay 'ere," said her husband, resuming his seat; "it seems more cheerful and lifelike. I wish I 'adn't gorn, that's what I wish." "What did she tell you?" inquired Mr. Foss. Mr. Dowson thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and spoke desperately. "She says I'm to live to ninety, and I'm to travel to foreign parts----" "You get to bed," said his wife. "Come along." Mr. Dowson shook his head doggedly. "I'm to be rich," he continued, slowly--"rich and loved. After my pore dear wife's death I'm to marry again; a young woman with money and stormy brown eyes." Mrs. Dowson sprang from her chair and stood over him quivering with passion. "How dare you?" she gasped. "You--you've been drinking." "I've 'ad two arf-pints," said her husband, solemnly. "I shouldn't 'ave 'ad the second only I felt so miserable. I know I sha'n't be 'appy with a young woman." Mrs. Dowson, past speech, sank back in her chair and stared at him. "I shouldn't worry about it if I was you, Mrs. Dowson," said Mr. Foss, kindly. "Look what she said about me. That ought to show you she ain't to be relied on." "Eyes like lamps," said Mr. Dowson, musingly, "and I'm forty-nine next month. Well, they do say every eye 'as its own idea of beauty." A strange sound, half laugh and half cry, broke from the lips of the over-wrought Mrs. Dowson. She controlled herself by an effort. "If she said it," she said, doggedly, with a fierce glance at Mr. Foss, "it'll come true. If, after my death, my 'usband is going to marry a young woman with--with----" "Stormy brown eyes," interjected Mr. Foss, softly. "It's his fate and it can't be avoided," concluded Mrs. Dowson. "But it's so soon," said the unfortunate husband. "You're to die in three weeks and I'm to be married three months after."