"We want to have our palms read," Marie said. She was conscious of an eerie feeling, and she looked back at the closed flap of the tent nervously. "Dorothy—you go first . . ."
"I don't believe in it," Dorothy said, hardily, but she sat down at the table, and laid her hands, palms upwards, on the cushion.
The palmist spoke then, for the first time, to Marie.
"If you will kindly wait outside, mademoiselle," she said. She spoke with a slightly foreign accent, but her voice was soft and musical.
Marie went reluctantly. She would like to have heard what Dorothy was told.
239 It was only a few minutes before Dorothy was out again, her face flushed and her eyes bright as if with unshed tears.
"It's all rubbish," she said harshly, when Marie eagerly questioned her. "As if anybody believes in it! Are you going in? Very well, be quick. I'll tell you afterwards what she said to me."
Marie went back into the tent. She had taken off her gloves and slipped her wedding ring into her pocket. The palmist had addressed her as mademoiselle, and she was curious to know if she would still believe her to be unmarried when she had examined her hands.
She laid them palm upwards on the velvet cushion, and the woman opposite took them in her soft clasp, smoothing the palms with her forefingers and peering into the little lines and creases for a moment without speaking. Marie watched her curiously. Her first nervousness had lost itself in interest She almost started when, quite suddenly, the woman began to speak in a low, clear voice.
"You are very young, but you are already a wife. You have married a man whom you love devotedly, but he is blind! And because he is blind he has let your love waver from him to the keeping of another. You are proud! You have wrapped your heart about with pride, until you have stifled its best affections, and persuaded yourself that you do not care."