"Ah, I daresay you'll know some day," said Mrs. Dowson.

"Was the fair young man a good-looking chap?" inquired the inquisitive
Mr. Foss.

Mrs. Dowson hesitated. "Yes," she said, defiantly.

"Wonder who it can be?" muttered Mr. Foss, in perplexity.

"You'll know that too some day, no doubt," was the reply.

"I'm glad it's to be a good-looking chap," he said; "not that I think
Flora believes in such rubbish as fortune-telling. She's too sensible."

"I do," said Flora. "How should she know all the things I did when I was
a little girl? Tell me that."

"I believe in it, too," said Mrs. Dowson. "P'r'aps you'll tell me I'm
not sensible!"

Mr. Foss quailed at the challenge and relapsed into moody silence. The
talk turned on an aunt of Mr. Lippet's, rumored to possess money, and an
uncle who was "rolling" in it. He began to feel in the way, and only his
native obstinacy prevented him from going.

It was a relief to him when the front door opened and the heavy step of
Mr. Dowson was heard in the tiny passage. If anything it seemed heavier
than usual, and Mr. Dowson's manner when he entered the room and greeted
his guests was singularly lacking in its usual cheerfulness. He drew a