“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.”

“And she can say what she likes about you, but I sha’n’t believe it,” said Mr. Foss, reproachfully.

“I don’t suppose it’ll be anything to be ashamed of,” said Miss Dowson, sharply.

Mr. Foss bade them good-night suddenly, and, finding himself accompanied to the door by Mr. Dowson, gave way to gloom.  He stood for so long with one foot on the step and the other on the mat that Mr. Dowson, who disliked draughts, got impatient.

[Illustration:  “Mr. Foss bade them good-night suddenly.”]

“You’ll catch cold, Charlie,” he said at last.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” said Mr. Foss; “my death o’ cold.  Then I sha’n’t get five years for bigamy,” he added bitterly.

“Cheer up,” said Mr. Dowson; “five years ain’t much out of a lifetime; and you can’t expect to ’ave your fun without—­”

He watched the retreating figure of Mr. Foss as it stamped its way down the street, and closing the door returned to the kitchen to discuss palmistry and other sciences until bedtime.

Mrs. Dowson saw husband and daughter off to work in the morning, and after washing up the breakfast things drew her chair up to the kitchen fire and became absorbed in memories of the past.  All the leading incidents in Flora’s career passed in review before her.  Measles, whooping-cough, school-prizes, and other things peculiar to the age of innocence were all there.  In her enthusiasm she nearly gave her a sprained ankle which had belonged to her sister.  Still shaking her head over her mistake, she drew Flora’s latest portrait carefully from its place in the album, and putting on her hat and jacket went round to make a call in Peter Street.

By the time Flora returned home Mrs. Dowson appeared to have forgotten the arrangement made the night before, and, being reminded by her daughter, questioned whether any good could come of attempts to peer into the future.  Mr. Dowson was still more emphatic, but his objections, being recognized by both ladies as trouser-pocket ones, carried no weight.  It ended in Flora going off with half a crown in her glove and an urgent request from her father to make it as difficult as possible for the sibyl by giving a false name and address.