They passed the sentry who nodded to her at the gate, went past the officers’ quarters, down a little path lined with piled cannon-balls, out to a small promontory that overlooked the harbor. Here there was an old Spanish brass cannon in its wooden mortar-carriage, and a seat on the very edge of the bluff. The harbor extended wide to the southeast. Inshore was a covey of white-sailed yachts in regatta, just tacking, to beat across to Lime Point, opposite. As they sat down, Clytie said, "Now do tell me about Miss Gray. How is she?" "She’s not with me any more." She lifted her brows. "Where is she?" "I don’t know, quite." "You haven’t seen her since she left?" "No, not for two weeks." Clytie frowned and bit her lip, then shook her head silently. Then she remarked, as if to herself, "I like her. I’m sure she’s fine." "She likes you, too." "I wish I might see her," she went on, her eyes fixed on the mountains. "I’d like to do something for her. I might get her a position in my father’s office, I’m sure, if she’d take it. I have a curious feeling, though, that it is she who will be more likely to do something for me." "If she ever can, you may be sure she will. Fancy is true blue." "You didn’t—have any misunderstanding with her, did you?" "Oh, no." She seemed to notice his reluctance to explain, and did not pursue the subject. She turned and her eyes fell upon his hand, which lay carelessly upon his knee. "Let me see your palm," she said impulsively. "I’ve never looked at it carefully. I suppose you’ve told your own fortune often enough." He gave his left hand to her. She barely touched it, holding it lightly, but he felt the magnetism of the contact almost as a caress. "You’ll find my line of fate shows that I’m to change my career," he remarked. "It’s broken at the head line, you see, and begins over again." "Now, let me look at your right hand." She looked at it, and her expression changed subtly. It was as if she had found some secret satisfaction in his palm, some answer to her desires. "What d’you see?" "The heart line." In his left hand it began near the root of the second finger, at the mount of Saturn, not, as he would have preferred, farther toward the index finger, at the mount of Jupiter. He wondered if that meant to her what it did, in his professional capacity, to him—an indication of more sensual tastes. Half its length was cobwebbed with tiny branches, and punctuated with islands; then it ran, deep and clear to the edge of the palm, almost straight. In his right palm the line was cleaner, simpler, undivided.