“But you call yourself a professional palmist,” he said, “and you add crystal gazing to your announcement. I have seen it being carried along on Regent Street.”
“It is quite true,” Violet said, “that I sometimes try to amuse ladies, but I make no serious attempt to tell fortunes. And as I said before, I do not even receive gentlemen here at all. I am sorry that you have had your visit for nothing.”
He rose to his feet with a shrug of the shoulders. There was nothing to be done but to accept defeat. And then, at the moment of defeat, something happened which more than reconciled him to his wasted visit. The door was opened abruptly, and Saton entered.
He realized the situation, or its possibilities, in an instant. His bow to Violet was the bow of a stranger.
“You are engaged,” he said. “I will come again. I am sorry that your boy did not tell me.”
“This gentleman came under a misapprehension,” Violet answered. “I am sorry, but the same thing applies to you. I do not receive gentlemen here.”
Saton bowed.
“I am sorry,” he said.
The page-boy for whom Violet had rung, opened the door. The first comer passed out, with obvious reluctance. The moment that the door was closed, Violet turned towards Saton with a little exclamation.
“Well,” she said, “of all the idiots I ever knew. Haven’t I told you time after time that this place is infested with detectives? We get them here every day or so, trying to trap us, women as well as men. And yet you walk in as though the place belonged to you. The one thing they are so anxious to find out is who is running this show.”