"There is my lord," exclaimed Mrs. Dowson, waspishly; "anybody might
think the 'ouse belonged to him. And now he's dancing on my clean
doorstep."

"Might be only knocking the mud off afore coming in," said Mr. Dowson, as
he rose to open the door. "I've noticed he's very careful."

"I just came in to tell you a joke," said Mr. Foss, as he followed his
host into the kitchen and gazed tenderly at Miss Dowson--"best joke I
ever had in my life; I've 'ad my fortune told--guess what it was! I've
been laughing to myself ever since."

"Who told it?" inquired Mrs. Dowson, after a somewhat awkward silence.

"Old gypsy woman in Peter Street," replied Mr. Foss. "I gave 'er a wrong
name and address, just in case she might ha' heard about me, and she did
make a mess of it; upon my word she did."

"Wot did she say?" inquired Mr. Dowson.

Mr. Foss laughed. "Said I was a wrong 'un," he said, cheerfully, "and
would bring my mother's gray hairs to the grave with sorrow. I'm to 'ave
bad companions and take to drink; I'm to steal money to gamble with, and
after all that I'm to 'ave five years for bigamy. I told her I was
disappointed I wasn't to be hung, and she said it would be a
disappointment to a lot of other people too. Laugh! I thought I should
'ave killed myself."

"I don't see nothing to laugh at," said Mrs. Dowson, coldly.

"I shouldn't tell anybody else, Charlie," said her husband. "Keep it a
secret, my boy."

"But you--you don't believe it?" stammered the crestfallen Mr. Foss.

Mrs. Dowson cast a stealthy glance at her daughter. "Its wonderful 'ow
some o' those fortune-tellers can see into the future," she said, shaking
her head.

"Ah!" said her husband, with a confirmatory nod. "Wonderful is no name
for it. I 'ad my fortune told once when I was a boy, and she told me I
should marry the prettiest, and the nicest, and the sweetest-tempered gal
in Poplar."

Mr. Foss, with a triumphant smile, barely waited for him to finish.
"There you--" he began, and stopped suddenly.

[Illustration: "I just came in to tell you a joke."]

"What was you about to remark?" inquired Mrs. Dowson, icily.

"I was going to say," replied Mr. Foss--"I was going to say--I 'ad just
got it on the tip o' my tongue to say, 'There you--you--you 'ad all the
luck, Mr. Dowson.'"

He edged his chair a little nearer to Flora; but there was a chilliness
in the atmosphere against which his high spirits strove in vain. Mr.
Dowson rememb