The third lady at the table was thin and dark, a piquante, sharp-featured girl, with a dancing devil in her eyes. She had been watching Fancy with an amused smile. "I thought I'd seen you before," she said. "Now I remember. You're the young lady at Granthope's, aren't you?"
"Yes, that's my tag. I suppose I am entered for a regular blue-ribbon freak. But I've seen you, too, Miss Dean, once or twice, haven't I?"
Miss Dean hastened to say, "Mr. Granthope's a wonderful palmist, isn't he? He has told me some extraordinary things about myself." She held out her hand. "Do tell me what you think about my palm, please!"
But Fancy refused. "Oh, I don't want to make enemies, just as we've begun to break the ice. Every one would be jealous of the other, if I told you what I saw. Besides, I ought to be drumming up more trade for Mr. Granthope."
"How long have you been with him?" Cayley asked.
"Oh, about five years."
Clytie bit her lip. Granthope himself had said two.
"He has been fortunate to have such an able assistant as you," she said.
"Oh, Frank's been mighty good to me. I owe him everything." Fancy said it almost aggressively.
Cayley caught Clytie's eye, and he smiled.