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“That brings us to the present,” said the soothsayer, dropping her hand. “Now for the future.”

She took the girl’s other hand and poured some of the liquid into it. Miss Dowson shrank back.

“If it’s anything dreadful,” she said, quickly, “I don’t want to hear it. It–it ain’t natural.”

“I can warn you of dangers to keep clear of,” said the other, detaining her hand. “I can let you peep into the future and see what to do and what to avoid. Ah!”

She bent over the girl’s hand again and uttered little ejaculations of surprise and perplexity.

“I see you moving in gay scenes surrounded by happy faces,” she said, slowly. “You are much sought after. Handsome presents and fine clothes are showered upon you. You will cross the sea. I see a dark young man and a fair young man. They will both influence your life. The fair young man works in his father’s shop. He will have great riches.”

“What about the other?” inquired Miss Dowson, after a somewhat lengthy pause.

The fortune-teller shook her head. “He is his own worst enemy,” she said, “and he will drag down those he loves with him. You are going to marry one of them, but I can’t see clear–I can’t see which.”

“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.