"I've read a lot of stuff since I saw you first," Raymond began. "There is something in this palmistry."
"I just take the words and play with them," Joan replied. "I truly do not know whether there is anything in it—or not. It is only fun here."
"Look at me!"
"There is that line in my hand like yours"—Raymond was in dead earnest—"what—does it mean?"
"I told you what it means," Joan faltered.
"Do you want me to read your palm?" Raymond bent farther across the table.
"Yes, if you can!" Joan was on her mettle. She instantly spread her hands to the bent gaze and prayed that no one would take the tables near by. It was late; the rush was over and Elspeth Gordon, for the moment, had left the room.
"You're not what you appear," Raymond began.
"Who is?" Joan flung this out defiantly.