"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."

Mrs. Dowson moistened her lips and tried, but in vain, to avoid the
glittering eye of Mr. Foss. "Three!" she said, mechanically, "three!
three weeks!"

"Don't be frightened," said Mr. Foss, in a winning voice. "I don't
believe it; and, besides, we shall soon see! And if you don't die in
three weeks, perhaps I sha'n't get five years for bigamy, and perhaps
Flora won't marry a fair man with millions of money and motor-cars."

"No; perhaps she is wrong after all, mother," said Mr. Dowson, hopefully.

Mrs. Dowson gave him a singularly unkind look for one about to leave him
so soon, and, afraid to trust herself to speech, left the room and went
up-stairs. As the door closed behind her, Mr. Foss took the chair which
Mr. Lippet had thoughtlessly vacated, and offered such consolations to
Flora as he considered suitable to the occasion.