‘I had supposed that the sight of my hand would be enough for you,’ said I.
‘I can tell your ladyship’s fortune by your hand,’ said she, ‘but the past lies in your eyes. They are the windows of your memory, and I must look through them to see what’s indoors.’
‘What do you think of that for a poetical touch, Kate?’ I heard Mr. Webber say.
‘Raise your veil, Agnes,’ whispered Alice softly, ‘if it is only for a moment, dear. I am curious to hear what the woman means to tell you. There may be a meaning in this—something may come of it.’
So I put my hand to my veil and raised it above my eyes, contriving that it should keep my scarred forehead screened.
CHAPTER XVI
MY FORTUNE
The gipsy woman stooped and stared at me. Her face was close to mine, I seemed to feel her hot breath and shrunk in my chair. Never can I forget those eyes of hers. To this day do they revisit me in my sleep and glare upon me in dreams. Oh, such eyes as that woman had! The pupils were like liquid indigo; they contracted and enlarged as though they were fluid, indeed, upon the orange ground of the balls. They seemed on fire as their gaze flashed deep and full into my own vision. The scrutiny swiftly grew intolerable and I dropped my veil.
‘That will do, my sweet lady,’ said she, preserving the horrid whining note in her voice, and then, taking my hand, she feigned to explore it for some moments, perhaps minutes, so long did the pause seem.
She stood with my fingers in her hand, poring upon the palm. I cast a look around me, and in spite of my nervousness and uneasiness, that amounted to positive distress, I had some difficulty to prevent myself from breaking into an hysterical laugh at the countenances which surrounded us. Mrs. Webber seemed unable to draw her breath; the Miss Glanvilles stood with their mouths partly open; Sir Frederick Thompson’s face was distorted by a grin of expectation; but it would need the brush of a great comic artist to reproduce the looks of those people whilst they waited for the gipsy to speak.