“_Thank_ you,” cried Mrs. Brande, snatching away her fat hand. “That will do me for the present;” and she fell back among the crowd, muttering disjointed sentences, that sounded like “London--had up in police-court, fortune-telling against the law--six months’ hard labour.” But Mrs. Brande’s terrible fate and smothered indignation failed to dissuade others, in answer to Miss Lalla’s clear-- “The next.” Miss Ryder, a pretty girl, with fair hair, and pathetic blue eyes, came timidly forward, and gazed pleadingly at the oracle. “Yes--humph,” critically examining Miss Ryder’s pink palm. “Your head is entirely governed by your heart, and oh dear me! there is a dreadful cross on the heart line, a broken marriage. No,” turning the hand sideways, “I see no marriage line on your hand, but a great many small worries; truthfulness is _not_ an attribute--no; you will live long, and enjoy fairly good health.” Miss Ryder shrank back, with a distinctly sobered countenance, and in answer to the fortune-teller’s desire, Mark Jervis was pushed forward. He tendered his hand reluctantly, and only for the Englishman’s usual hatred of a fuss, would have withheld it altogether. Miss Paske disliked Mr. Jervis with his cool, ambiguous manner--he was a mere hanger on, scarcely worth powder and shot, but he was a friend of Honor Gordon’s, and she would make him ridiculous for her benefit! “Oh, what a hand!” she exclaimed, with a scornful laugh. “A fair enough head line, a great capacity for holding your tongue, especially on any subject concerning yourself. You do not think it necessary to tell the _whole_ truth on all occasions.” This was a palpable home-thrust, for in the face of half Shirani, Mark Jervis coloured visibly. “Secret, clear-headed, with great self-command. Yes; you would make a fine conspirator, and _I think_ you are a bit of an impostor.” Again the colour deepened in the subject’s tan cheek. “Line of heart _nil_. Fate much broken, I see--the mark of some kind of imprisonment; a life solitary and apart,” and holding the palm nearer to her eyes, “there is a great and unexpected change of fortune in store for you, which entails trouble. And there is the mark--of a violent death, or you will be the cause of another person’s death--the lines,” dropping his hand with a hopeless gesture, “are really too faint to read anything more with success.” “Thanks awfully; it is very good of you to let me down so easily. I know you see a halter in my hand, but have wished to spare my feelings.” Lalla looked at him indignantly--he was laughing. How dared he laugh at her? “Now, Sir Gloster, it is your turn”--beckoning to him graciously. Sir Gloster thrust out a very large, soft, white hand, and said, “This is worse than the stool of repentance. If you discover anything very bad, I implore you to whisper it in my ear, my dear Miss Paske.”