Fancy watched her amusedly. The lady was so close that she could enjoy the odor of the violets and a fainter, more exquisite perfume that came from the diaphanous embroidered linen blouse, whose cost Fancy might have reckoned in terms of her week’s salary. With careful, skilful movements the chain was unfastened, but the lady still held Fancy’s hand in her own. "Oh, what beautiful hands you have!" she exclaimed. "I never saw anything so lovely in my life! Let me see them both! I wonder if you know how pretty they are!" She looked questioningly into Fancy’s face and the twinkle in Fancy’s eyes answered her. "Oh, of course you do! Mr. Granthope must have told you! He has never seen a prettier pair, I’m sure!" She laid them carefully down, palms to the table, and smiled at Fancy. "I see you’ve got the right idea about hands," said Fancy Gray archly. "That second finger’s pretty good; did you notice it?" Both laughed. "I hope you don’t think I’m rude," said the lady. "You don’t worry me a bit, so long as you can keep it up. I’m only afraid you’re going to stop! But it seems to me you’ve got a pretty small pair of hands yourself! No wonder you noticed mine!" Fancy gazed at them, as if she were surprised to find any one who could compete with her own specialty. For answer, Miss Smith, as she had called herself, drew her violets from her coat, kissed them and handed them to Fancy. Fancy played up; kissed them too, nodded, as if drinking a health, and tucked them safely away on her own breast. Then she treated Miss Smith to the by-play of her delicious dimples, as she said, "Come in as often as you like, especially when you have flowers!" "Miss Smith’s" face had become wonderfully alive, and she gazed at Fancy so frankly admiring that now Fancy had to drop her own eyes in embarrassment. At this moment Granthope’s voice was heard as he came out of his studio with Gay P. Summer. A kind of shyness seemed to envelop the visitor and she drew back, her color mounting, her lids drooping. "I’m all ready for you, Miss Smith," said Granthope, coming into the room and bowing suavely. "Come in, please." Leaving Mr. Summer in conversational dalliance with Fancy Gray, the lady followed the palmist into his studio. As she walked, her graceful, long-limbed tread, with its easy swing, seemed almost leopard-like in its unconscious freedom, her head was carried somewhat forward, questing, her arms were slightly extended tentatively from her side, as if she almost expected to touch something she could not see. *CHAPTER II* *TUITION AND INTUITION*