"That palmist of yours had the impertinence to come here and ask for you," he informed Clytie, "but I sent him about his business, and I expect he won’t be back in a hurry." Clytie looked up with a white face. "Mr. Granthope, father?" She rose proudly and faced him. "Do you mean to say that you were rude enough to turn him away? It’s impossible!" Mr. Payson walked up and down the room in a dudgeon. "I certainly did send him away, and what’s more, I told him not to come back." Clytie, without another word, ran out into the hall. The front door was flung open and her footsteps could be heard on the gravel walk. Mr. Payson seated himself sulkily. In five minutes more she had returned, slowly, her hair blown into a fine disorder, the color flaming in her cheeks, her eyes quickened. "What in the world have you been doing?" her father demanded. "I wanted to apologize for your rudeness," she answered, "but I was too late." *CHAPTER X* *A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR* "He gives exact and truthful revelations of all love affairs, settles lovers’ quarrels, enables you to win the affection and esteem of any one you desire, causes speedy and happy marriages—" Granthope put down the paper with a look of disgust. It was his own advertisement, and it had appeared daily for months. He took up his desk telephone with a jerk, and called up the _Chronicle_ business office. "This is Granthope, the palmist. Please take out my displayed ad., and insert only this: ’Francis Granthope, Palmist. 141 Geary St., Readings, Ten Dollars. Only by Appointment. Ten till Four.’" There was now a red-headed office boy in the corner where Fancy Gray used to sit. Granthope missed her jaunty spirit and unfailing comradeship. Not even his endeavor to give his profession a scientific aspect amused him any longer. He had lost interest in his work. He was uneasy, dissatisfied, blue. He went into his studio listlessly, with a frown printed on his brow. Until his first client appeared he lay upon the big couch, his eyes fixed upon the light. He had been there a few moments when his office boy knocked, and opening the door, injected his red head. "Say, dere’s a lady in here to see you, Mr. Granthope!" "Who is she?" The boy grinned. "By de name of Lucie. Says you know her." "Tell her I can’t see her." Granthope turned away, and the boy left.