d hurry they did, arriving at the Bonny Brier Bush a few minutes later
in rather a breathless but radiant state.

The proprietress, Elspeth Gordon, was a tall, slender woman, no longer
young, but carrying herself with a dignity that amounted almost to
majesty. She was gowned in crisp lavender linen with immaculate white
collars and cuffs and was standing in the middle of her Big Experiment,
as she termed it, when Joan and Sylvia burst in.

"All ready but the opening of the door--legitimately," she said, smiling
on Sylvia and bowing cordially to Joan. "Doesn't it look inviting?" She
gave a broad glance to the sweet, orderly room: the small tables, glass
covered; the rose-chintz covers and draperies; the clear fire on the
broad, old-fashioned hearth, and the blossoming rose bushes on the
window sills.

"It certainly does," Sylvia replied with enthusiasm.

"I've put everything I own into this venture," Elspeth went on; "if I
fail, I'm done for."

For all her years of discretion and her plain common sense, Elspeth
Gordon's mouth and tone betrayed the artistic temperament. Upon that
Sylvia was banking.

"I have a splendid cook--a Scotch woman. I'm going to specialize on
scones, and oat cakes, and such things, but oh! it is the opening of the
door and the awful days of waiting until the public finds out!"

"Exactly!" Sylvia nodded and Joan stared. "You'll have to lure the
public, Elspeth, there's no doubt about that. Tea rooms are no novelty
these days. You'll have to tease it with a bait, and the rest is easy.

"Now, my dear, here's your bait!" With this, Sylvia turned so sharply
upon Joan that Elspeth started nervously and regarded her guest as she
might have a tempting worm: something possibly necessary, but which she
hesitated to touch.

"She can read--palms!"

"Oh! Syl----" Joan panted, but Sylvia scowled her to silence.

"She can read palms," she repeated, holding Elspeth by her firm tone; "a
little more reading up, a bit of experience, and she'll work wonders.
She doesn't know it, but she's psychic--of course this is going to be
fun; not real. Just a lure. We'll have Joan in a long white robe--a girl
I know can design it. We'll have a filmy veil over the lower part of her
face--mystery, you know. Look at her eyes, Elspeth, aren't they great?
Give that 'into-the-future' stare, Joan!"

Joan rose to the fun of it all. She grasped the possibilities, but
Elspeth faltered.

"I don't want to be--ridiculous," s