In short, Joan was waking to the meaning of life, and it had taken very little to awaken her, for her time had come.

Three days later Kenneth Raymond ate his luncheon at the Brier Bush and spoke no word to Joan.  The following day he nodded to her, and the day after that he said, in a low voice as she passed: 

“I want to have you read my palm again.”

“Once is enough,” Joan replied.

“I have forgotten what you said,” Raymond broke in; “besides, I have another reason.  You’ve set me on a line of thought—­you’ve got to clear the track.”

“Oh, very well.”  And Joan sat down and took the broad hand in hers.

“I’ve read a lot of stuff since I saw you first,” Raymond began.  “There is something in this palmistry.”

“I just take the words and play with them,” Joan replied.  “I truly do not know whether there is anything in it—­or not.  It is only fun here.”

“Look at me!”

This Joan refused to do.

“There is that line in my hand like yours”—­Raymond was in dead earnest—­“what—­does it mean?”

“I told you what it means,” Joan faltered.

“Do you want me to read your palm?” Raymond bent farther across the table.

“Yes, if you can!” Joan was on her mettle.  She instantly spread her hands to the bent gaze and prayed that no one would take the tables near by.  It was late; the rush was over and Elspeth Gordon, for the moment, had left the room.

“You’re not what you appear,” Raymond began.

“Who is?” Joan flung this out defiantly.

“You’re daring a good deal—­to taste life.  You’re testing your line; making it prove itself—­I haven’t dared!”

Joan did not speak, and her small hands were as quiet as little dead hands in the strong ones which held them.

“Does it pay—­the daring, the testing?” Raymond’s eyes, dark and unfaltering, tried to pierce the veil.

“Yes—­I think so.”

“You make me want to try—­do you dare me?”

“It does not interest me at all what you do.”  Joan was like ice now.  “You evidently misunderstand our play here.  Let go of my hands!”

“I haven’t finished yet.  You’ve got to hear me out.”

“Let go of my hands!”

“All right—­but will you stay here?”

“I’ll stay until I want to go.”

“Very well.  I know I’m a good deal of a fool—­but sometimes a slight thing turns the stream.  I thought it was all rot—­a play that you’d made up—­this line business.”  Raymond spoke hurriedly.  “Of course I’d heard of it, but I never gave it a thought.  Just for sport, after that first day, I got bushels of books and I’ve been sitting up nights reading.  There’s something in it!”

Joan laughed.  The man looked like an excited boy who had started a toy engine going.

“See here!  They say your left hand is what you start with; your right hand what you have made of yourself—­that line that you have and I have is in my right hand—­is yours in both?”