It did not even seem odd to Sally that Enid Barr should have paid a second visit to the carnival. Probably Capital City afforded scant amusement for a woman of her sophistication, and the carnival, crude and tawdry though it was, was better than nothing.
Since “Princess Lalla” was not a side-show all by herself, but only one of many attractions in the Palace of Wonders, Gus never made any attempt to cajole reluctant “rubes” into surrendering their quarters for a glimpse of “past, present and future,” but always hustled his crowd on to the next platform—“Pitty Sing’s”—as soon as the first flurry of interest had died down and the crowd had become restive.
By this method, those who were faintly or belligerently dissatisfied with Sally’s crystal-gazing, at which she was becoming more adept with each performance, were quickly placated by the sight of new wonders, for which no extra charge was made.
Sally was straightening the black velvet drapery which covered the crystal stand, preparatory to returning to the dress tent for a rest between shows when a lovely, lilting voice, with a ripple of amusement in it, made her gasp with surprise and consternation.
“Am I too late to have my fortune told?” Enid Barr, gazing up at Sally with her golden head tilted provocatively to one side, was immediately below the startled crystal-gazer, one of her exquisite small hands swinging the silvery-green felt hat which Sally had so much admired the day before.
“Oh, no!” Sally fluttered, both delighted and frightened at this opportunity to talk with the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. Just in time she remembered her accent: “Weel you do me ze honor to ascend the steps?”
Laughing at herself, and looking over her shoulder to see that she was not observed by anyone who knew her, Enid Barr ran lightly up the steps and slipped into the little camp chair opposite Sally. Her small white hands, with their exquisite nails glistening in the light from the center gas jet, hovered over the crystal, touching it tentatively.
Sally leaned forward, her own hands cupped about the crystal, her eyes brooding upon it behind the little black lace veil, her mouth pursed with sweet seriousness.
“You are—what you call it?—psychic,” Sally chanted in the quaint, mincing voice with which she had been taught to make her revelations. “Ze creeystal, she is va-ry clear for you. I see so-o-o much!” She hesitated, wondering just how much of Van Horne’s confidences about this beautiful woman she dared appropriate. Would Van Horne give her away? Then, as if drawn by a powerful magnet, she raised her eyes suddenly and met those of Van Horne, who was leaning nonchalantly against the center-pole of the tent. He nodded, smiled his curious, quizzical smile and slowly winked his right eye. She had his permission—
“Please hurry!” Enid Barr commanded arrogantly. “I’m just dying to know what you see about me in that crystal!”