"I'm a Stanley," said the old woman, not without dignity. "You're one as looks for queens on thrones. The greatest queens, my pretty sir, don't sit on thrones. Go on—tell his fortune! A child could read that hand and face."
"I see a long life and a full one," droned the girl. "You will get what you want, because you will want it so badly."
"A true fortune," mumbled the old woman.
"Your turn, Mark," said Archie. "Hold out your paw!"
Reluctantly, Mark obeyed. The girl took his hand as she had taken Archie's, very delicately, and smoothed the palm with a touch that was not unlike a caress. A puzzled smile curled her red lips. The old woman peered over her shoulder. Again the girl stroked the boy's palm, and he winced.
"Shrinks from a woman's touch," said the old woman.
"You tell it, mother," said the girl.
The old woman bent down.
"A happy hand," she muttered, "a happy hand, the hand of the free giver, the blessed hand, the kind hand, and the strong hand. Ah, but what is this? Sorrow, suffering, disappointment! And love," her harsh voice softened: "you will love deeply and be loved in return. You are the child of love——"
"I see more," said the girl softly, taking Mark's hand again. "This is the hand of a fighter, mother."