Or perhaps you will lose all your money and have to work for your living, which might be good for you.

Or," he added, still thinking aloud after his fashion, "perhaps she will die young--she has that kind of face, although, of course, I hope she won't," he added, waking up.
I do not know why, but his wandering words struck me cold; the proverbial funeral bell at the marriage feast was nothing to them.

I suppose it was because in a flash of intuition I knew that they would come true and that he was an appointed Cassandra.

Perhaps this uncanny knowledge overcame my natural indignation at such super-gaucherie of which no one but Bastin could have been capable, and even prevented me from replying at all, so that I merely sat still and looked at him.
But Bickley did reply with some vigour.
"Forgive me for saying so, Bastin," he said, bristling all over as it were, "but your remarks, which may or may not be in accordance with the principles of your religion, seem to me to be in singularly bad taste.
They would have turned the stomachs of a gathering of early Christians, who appear to have been the worst mannered people in the world, and at any decent heathen feast your neck would have been wrung as that of a bird of ill omen." "Why ?" asked Bastin blankly.

"I only said what I thought to be the truth.