“Look again,” said the trembling Flora.

“I can’t see,” was the reply, “therefore it isn’t meant for me to see.  It’s for you to choose.  I can see them now as plain as I can see you.  You are all three standing where two roads meet.  The fair young man is beckoning to you and pointing to a big house and a motor-car and a yacht.”

“And the other?” said the surprised Miss Dowson.

“He’s in knickerbockers,” said the other, doubtfully.  “What does that mean?  Ah, I see!  They’ve got the broad arrow on them, and he is pointing to a jail.  It’s all gone—­I can see no more.”

She dropped the girl’s hand and, drawing her hand across her eyes, sank back into her chair.  Miss Dowson, with trembling fingers, dropped the half crown into her lap, and, with her head in a whirl, made her way downstairs.

After such marvels the streets seemed oddly commonplace as she walked swiftly home.  She decided as she went to keep her knowledge to herself, but inclination on the one hand and Mrs. Dowson on the other got the better of her resolution.  With the exception of a few things in her past, already known and therefore not worth dwelling upon, the whole of the interview was disclosed.

“It fair takes your breath away,” declared the astounded Mr. Dowson.

“The fair young man is meant for Ben Lippet,” said his wife, “and the dark one is Charlie Foss.  It must be.  It’s no use shutting your eyes to things.”

“It’s as plain as a pikestaff,” agreed her husband.  “And she told Charlie five years for bigamy, and when she’s telling Flora’s Fortune she sees ’im in convict’s clothes.  How she does it I can’t think.”

“It’s a gift,” said Mrs. Dowson, briefly, “and I do hope that Flora is going to act sensible.  Anyhow, she can let Ben Lippet come and see her, without going upstairs with the tooth-ache.”

“He can come if he likes,” said Flora; “though why Charlie couldn’t have ’ad the motor-car and ’im the five years, I don’t know.”

Mr. Lippet came in the next evening, and the evening after.  In fact, so easy is it to fall into habits of an agreeable nature that nearly every evening saw him the happy guest of Mr. Dowson.  A spirit of resignation, fostered by a present or two and a visit to the theatre, descended upon Miss Dowson.  Fate and her mother combined were in a fair way to overcome her inclinations, when Mr. Foss, who had been out of town on a job, came in to hear the result of her visit to the fortune-teller, and found Mr. Lippet installed in the seat that used to be his.

At first Mrs. Dowson turned a deaf ear to his request for information, and it was only when his jocularity on the subject passed the bounds of endurance that she consented to gratify his curiosity.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” she said, when she had finished, “but you asked for it, and now you’ve got it.”

“It’s very amusing,” said Mr. Foss.  “I wonder who the dark young man in the fancy knickers is?”