"The difference is the meaning of life. One comes into this consciousness with his individuality--or soul, or whatever one cares to call it--intact. It accepts or repudiates what the personality--that is intellect--learns through the five senses. If it is _truth_, then it becomes part of the individuality--if it is untruth, it is discarded. Individuality is never in doubt--it _knows_. It is not bound by foolish laws evolved from the five-sensed personality; it will, in the end, have its way. You will have to listen more to your individuality; be controlled less by your personality. The latter is too fully developed"--at this broad slash Raymond coloured in spite of himself--"the former has been pitifully ignored." The pause that followed was made normal only by the pressure on Raymond's foot. Presently he said, boldly: "You have the same line in your own hand, Sibyl!" Joan started and looked down. She had not considered a home thrust possible. Instinctively her long, slim fingers clutched the secret of her palm. "I am not reading my own lines," she said, quietly; "I am learning from them, however!" Then she rose with dignity and passed to another table where a broad, flat, commonplace hand lay ready. "Well?" Mrs. Tweksbury pounced into the arena like a released gladiator. "What do you make of it, Ken?" Raymond laughed. He saw that Mrs. Tweksbury was more impressed than she cared to acknowledge. "I don't know what she told you, Aunt Emily," he said, taking up the check beside his plate, "but it was rather cleverly concealed rot, as far as I am concerned. Drivel; faddy drivel, but the girl's a lady, or whatever that word stands for. I half believe the child takes herself seriously--she has wonderful eyes. She should wear blinders--it isn't fair to leave them outside the veil. Comical little beggar!" "But, Ken," Emily Tweksbury followed her companion from the room, "you are like that--you really are! You just take life by the throat and you are sure of yourself in a way that frightens me." "Oh, come, Aunt Emily, that girl has caught you by her nonsense. See here, let us do a bit of sleuthing! I bet the sibyl often is at dinners where we go--and I'm not so sure but what I would know those hands of hers anywhere--they were not ordinary hands. Two can play at her little game." This seemed to offer some inducement to Mrs. Tweksbury and she brightened. "Her walk, too, Ken. Did you notice that?" "Yes--I did, by Jove! Longer strides than most girls take and a swing from the hips like a graceful dance motion. Yes, that walk should be a dead give-away." "And her eyes, Ken, she _has_ eyes!" "Yes," rather musingly, "she has eyes!" "Ken, we mustn't give further countenance to this silly, faddy place." This with conviction. "Why should we, Aunt Emily? I only went at your request, you know." "Of course. The girl got on my nerves." Mrs. Tweksbury could smile now. "Well, I'm going to get on hers!" Raymond set his jaw.