Olivia smiled, and held out her hand promptly.
“Don’t prophesy anything very dreadful, please,” she said.
The woman crossed her long, shapely hand and peered at it; then she slowly let the hand drop.
“Is there any other gentleman or lady would like their fortune told?” she said.
“Oh, but that isn’t fair!” exclaimed Annie Penstone. “You must tell this lady’s, you know.”
The woman glanced at her, then at Olivia.
“Am I to tell it, miss?” she said.
Olivia smiled. “Of course,” she said. “Why not?”
The woman took her hand, and looked into her eyes, just as a short-sighted person might have done; then she glanced behind her at the spot where the man stood in an attitude of perfect repose and self-possession, his dark eyes fixed upon Bartley Bradstone.
“Shall I tell this pretty lady her fortune, Seth——”