Mr. Jarvis (with sarcasm)—Would you mind telling me at what age I am going to lose my teeth, or if I am in danger of breaking a leg? I had no idea palmistry was so pathological.
Miss Paysley (undisturbed)—Hold your fingers up to the light.
Mr. Jarvis (aside)—Now for the old “you let money slip through your fingers.”
Miss Paysley—You don’t know how to hold on to your fortune; you let the best thing in your life slip through your fingers.
Mr. Jarvis (aside)—Rather a good variant. (Aloud.) What do you mean?
Miss Paysley (with impatience)—How should I know what I mean? I’m telling you what I see. I don’t know enough about you to have the answer to the riddle of your hand. Remember, we’ve only met twice.
Mr. Jarvis—Three times.
Miss Paysley—Twice, three times, half a dozen—it doesn’t signify.
Mr. Jarvis—It does to me.
Miss Paysley (aside)—I’m sorry for you, Millicent. (Aloud.) You ought to know what I mean. Have you never been in danger of losing through your own carelessness—I mean, something you are fond of? (Aside.) That’s pretty pointed. I hope Millicent won’t give me away.