id to their palates that folks give to
their eyes and ears, with their fool drawing-teachers and
music-masters in the attempt to enable them to bore somebody with
their twopenny accomplishments, we should soon have a race of
gourmets; and gourmets make cooks. No chef can do his best without
appreciation. For the matter of that, a cook must be born,--he must
have the feeling for his business. Now there was a fellow in
England--My dear," he called out to his wife at the other end of the
table, "was it Windermere or Grassmere where we had those excellent
breaded trout?"

"I forget," Mrs. Graham answered; "but I know it was the one where
Wordsworth lived. Which was that, Mr. Flint?"

"Now don't interrupt us," Miss Wabash said in her loud, unshaded
tones; "Mr. Flint has just consented to let me tell his fortune by his
hand."

Flint looked rather foolish. He was in that awkward position where it
seemed equally fatuous to assent or decline; but deciding on the
former course, he held out his hand, saying, "Spare my character as
far as you conscientiously can, Miss Wabash, and remember in
extenuation of my shortcomings that I did not have the advantage of
being brought up in Chicago."

All tete-a-tete conversation now ceased, and the attention of the
company was riveted upon Flint and his neighbor. Winifred felt herself
growing intensely nervous. She had no fear of Miss Wabash's
extraordinary power of divination, but she had still less confidence
in the delicacy of her perceptions, and she dreaded some remark which
would embarrass her through Flint's embarrassment.

In her present high-strung condition, her apprehension made her a
little faint for a moment. The centrepiece of orchids and roses seemed
a vague mass of rather oppressive color and perfume. The women's faces
and necks looked like reddish blobs with flashes of light where the
jewels came. The broad white expanse of the men's shirt fronts alone
retained a certain steadiness. Hastily she grasped her glass of
champagne and drained it dry. It was the first wine she had tasted
that night, and it braced her nerves at once. Fortunately no one
observed her paleness, for everybody's attention was fixed upon Miss
Wabash as she bent over Flint's open palm.

"A surprising hand!" that young lady was saying; "really in some ways
quite the most interesting I ever came across. I must report it to
Chiro. The fingers very pointed--that ought to indicate idealism, but
the knots