During the War she had been fond of going first to one and then to another of the fashionable sooth-sayers.
They had all agreed as to one thing--this was that her husband would die, and of course she had thought he would be killed at the Front.

But he had come through safe and sound, and more--more _hateful_ than ever.
One fortune-teller, a woman, small, faded, commonplace-looking, yet with something sinister about her that impressed her patrons uncomfortably, had told Enid Crofton, with a curious smile, that she would have yet another husband, making the third.

This had startled her very much, for the woman, who did not even know her name, could only have guessed that she had been married twice.

Enid Crofton was not given to making unnecessary confidences.

With the exception of her sister-in-law, none of the people who now knew her were aware that Colonel Crofton had been her second husband.
She lay down again, and in the now dying firelight, fixed her eyes on the chintz square of the window curtain nearest to her.