He felt the pitiful emptiness of his words, but he had been too affected by her narrative to give her the smooth banalities that were always ready to his tongue. She got up and looked at him through her tears.
"You have helped me, Mr. Granthope. Somehow I knew you could. I'll be in again sometime. How much is it, please?"
"My dear girl, when you come again, you can thank the young lady whom you saw here before. Don't thank me."
She looked at him silently, then she took his hand and shook it very hard. "You mean that lady with red hair who sits at the desk?"
"Yes."
"I liked her when I saw her. She was nice to me. Is—is she Mrs. Granthope?"
Granthope shook his head and smiled.
The girl blushed at her indiscretion. "I kind of thought—she seemed to be, well, fond of you. I mean, the way she looked at you, I didn't know but what you were married. I hope you'll excuse me." She was visibly confused, and evidently had said much more than she had intended.
"My dear," Granthope replied, "she's far too good for me!"
The girl shook her head slowly, as she rose to go. A smile struggled to her face as if, for the first time, she noted the incongruity of the palmist's costume, then, with a grateful look she went out.