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“Tarneverro is simply wonderful. He’s told me the most amazing things about my past—and about my future, too. I never take a step without consulting him—and neither does Shelah.”

Martino shook his great head impatiently. “It’s a rotten scandal,” he cried, “the way most of you Hollywood women have gone mad over voodoo men. Telling them all your secrets—some day one of them will publish his memoirs, and then where will you be? A few of us try to lift the industry to a dignified plane—but, oh, lord—what’s the use?”

“No use, my dear fellow,” said Van Horn. He looked across the intervening stretch of water at the tall lean figure of the fortune-teller. “Poor Shelah—there’s something rather touching in such faith as this. I presume she wants to ask Tarneverro whether or not she shall marry Alan Jaynes.”

“Of course she does,” Miss Dixon nodded. “She wants to know if she’ll be happy with him. She cabled Tarneverro the day after Jaynes proposed. Why not? Marriage is a serious step.”

Martino shrugged. “If she’d only ask me, I’d read her future quick enough. She’s nearly through in pictures, and she ought to know it. Her contract expires in six months, and I happen to know—in strict confidence, you understand—it won’t be renewed. I can see her taking a long journey by water then—going abroad to make a picture—the beginning of the end. She’d better grab this diamond king quick before he changes his mind. But no—she’s fooling round with a back-parlor crystal-gazer. However, that’s like you people. You won’t grow up.” He walked away.