Joan had a sudden fear that if she did not stop the question would be shouted.
"Very well," she said, quietly, and sat down opposite Raymond.
She clasped her pretty hands before her and—waited.
It is not easy to laugh away the moments in life that we cannot account for—they often seem the only moments of tremendous import; they are the channels which, once entered, give access to wide experiences. Joan felt her breath coming hard; she was frightened. Raymond pushed his plate aside and, leaning forward a bit over his clasped hands, said casually:
"Just how much of this rot do you believe?"
"None of it."
"Why do you do it?"
"I am earning my bread and butter and—dessert."
"Especially—the dessert?"
"No. Especially bread and butter. It is only a bit of fun, you know—this reading of the palms. Miss Gordon thinks it—it aids digestion," Joan was speaking hardly above a whisper.