"Has the size of the hand anything to do with the subject?" asked Miller, as the spinster picked up a magnifying glass.
"Don't make suggestions to the oracle," laughed Foster. "Go ahead,
Kiametia."
"Your life line is good," pronounced the spinster, "but as it divides toward the end you will probably die in a country different from that of your birth."
"Any particular time scheduled for the event?" questioned Miller, skeptically, but Miss Kiametia ignored the remark.
"This branch from the head line to the heart"—indicating it with a slender paper-cutter—"denotes some great affection which makes you blind to reason and danger." She paused irresolutely. "Pshaw! I'm reading from the left hand, let me see the other…."
"Isn't the one nearest the heart the surest guide?" inquired Miller.
"It is not," with decision, and Miller, smiling whimsically, extended his hand toward them.
"The right hand of fellowship," he remarked, placing his palm directly under the light.
"My theory is correct." Miss Kiametia shot a triumphant look at Mrs. Whitney. "There are always more lines in the right palm than in the left; and see, here is a wider space between the lines of the head and life—contact with the world, Captain Miller, has taught you self-reliance, promptness of action, and readiness of thought. Hello, what is that on your index finger—a half-moon?"
"Yes." Miller smiled covertly; the spinster's seriousness amused him immensely. "Isn't that according to Hoyle?"