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sionless face. “I should have expected a bit more courtesy,” he said evenly. “But then—I scarcely know you.”

“Stand up,” Jaynes repeated, “and come with me. I want a talk with you.”

For a moment the fortune-teller sat, quietly measuring the man who towered above him. Then he rose, and making his apologies to the two old people, he walked at Jaynes’ side down the long room.

“What is all this———” he began.

They stopped at an archway near the far end. Outside a series of brilliant lights bathed the hotel lawn in white, making an ideal stage-setting for some drama of the tropics. But the stage was empty; the drama was all inside the lounge.

“I want an explanation,” said Jaynes roughly.

“An explanation of what?”

“I have done myself the honor of asking Miss Shelah Fane to marry me. I had every reason to believe she intended to do so—but to-day she consulted you about the matter—a matter that concerns you not at all. You advised her against a marriage with me.”

Tarneverro shrugged. “I do not discuss with outsiders what goes on at my readings.”

“You're going to discuss it with me. Make up your mind to that!”

“Suppose I did—what could I say? I tell my clients only what I see in the crystal———”

“Rot!” cried Jaynes. “You tell them whatever happens to suit your fancy. What was your reason for this advice to Shelah?” He came closer and stared into the seer’s face. “Are you, by any chance, in love with her yourself?”