Two days later Kenneth Raymond went to the Brier Bush again for luncheon. This time Mrs. Tweksbury did not accompany him. He took a table at the far end of the room near the windows--he wanted light. He ordered his luncheon, read his paper, and to all intents and purposes gave the impression of a business man who, having discovered a place of good food, repaired to it with confidence. Of course Elspeth Gordon did not remember him--why should she? But Joan did--and why should she? She was reading the palms of a hilarious group near the table at which Raymond sat reading the stock reports; she was in a gale of high spirits but, when she was aware of Raymond's glance, she paused and caught her breath. "Anything bad in my hand?" asked the girl whose palm Joan was scanning. "Oh, no! Something splendid. You are never to make mistakes, because your caution is stronger than your desire," Joan murmured. "I think _that_ is stupid," the girl returned; "no fun in that kind of thing." Joan prolonged each reading at the safe, jolly table; she planned, when she was done, to ignore the man near her and go in the opposite direction, but while she planned she was aware that she would do no such thing. The bird and the snake know this force, so do the moon and the tides. And at last Joan got up and turned toward Raymond. As she passed his table--he was busy with his soup then--her head was high and her eyes fixed upon Miss Gordon at the other end of the room. She was estimating her chances of reaching Elspeth with the limited self-control at her command. Then she heard words and paused without turning her head. "I wish you would stop a moment. I have a question to ask you." Joan had a sudden fear that if she did not stop the question would be shouted. "Very well," she said, quietly, and sat down opposite Raymond. She clasped her pretty hands before her and--waited. It is not easy to laugh away the moments in life that we cannot account for--they often seem the only moments of tremendous import; they are the channels which, once entered, give access to wide experiences. Joan felt her breath coming hard; she was frightened. Raymond pushed his plate aside and, leaning forward a bit over his clasped hands, said casually: "Just how much of this rot do you believe?" "None of it." "Why do you do it?" "I am earning my bread and butter and--dessert." "Especially--the dessert?" "No. Especially bread and butter. It is only a bit of fun, you know--this reading of the palms. Miss Gordon thinks it--it aids digestion," Joan was speaking hardly above a whisper. "She does, eh?" Raymond had an insane desire to snatch the shielding veil from the face across the table. He wondered what would happen if he did? "I wish," he said instead, "I wish you'd cut it out, you know." "What--my bread and butter?"