The majority of the fortunes were composed of the conventional
mixture of illnesses and love affairs which is the stock-in-trade of
drawing-room magicians. I glanced at her face. Not a trace of enthusiasm
was visible. She was telling fortunes as mechanically as a cottager
knits stockings.
"Now we have all been done except Mr. Carew! It's his turn!" cried Lily,
who was enjoying the whole thing immensely. "He must have his fortune
told! You will do him next, won't you, Irene?"
"Never!"
"Oh, why not? Are you tired? What a pity!"
Miss Latouche took not the slightest notice of the chorus of
protestations. She merely turned away with such an air of inflexible
determination that even the ardent Lily refrained from pressing her any
further.
My curiosity was considerably excited by finding myself an exception to
the general rule. Was the inference to be drawn from Miss Latouche's
behaviour flattering, or the reverse? I had no chance of finding out
until late in the afternoon, when the rain ceased and we all gladly
seized the opportunity of getting some exercise before dinner.
The different members of the party quickly dispersed in opposite
directions. A few exceptionally active young people tried to make up for
lost time by starting a game of tennis on the cinder courts. Some
diverged towards the stables, others took a brisk constitutional up and
down the gravel path.
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