ant, palmist, and card-reader," with the propitiatory smile of the woman who knows she is doing wrong but is prepared to argue that there is "no great harm into it." And she was followed by Mrs. Cregan, still guilty, but with a sort of reverential awe, as if she were an altar-boy who had been persuaded to join in some mischievous trespass on the sanctuary.
Madame Wampa received them, professionally insolent in her indifference.
Mrs. Byrne explained that she wanted only a "small card reading" for twenty-five cents.
Madame Wampa said curtly: "Sit down."
They sat down.
Madame Wampa had been a music-hall singer when her husband was a sleight-of-hand artist, "the Great Malino, the Wizard of Milan." Her voice had long since left her; she had nothing of her beauty but its yellow ruins; and her life was made up of the consideration of two great grievances—first, that her husband was always idle, and second that her landlord overcharged her for her rooms on account of the nature of her business.
She saw nothing in Mrs. Byrne and Mrs. Cregan but their inability to help her largely in paying her rent. She said: "I give a full trance readin' with names, dates, and all questions answered, for a dollar, or a full card readin' for fifty cents. You can't tell much for a quarter."
Mrs. Byrne shook her head.
Madame Wampa said "Very well," in a tone of haughty resignation. She turned to a booth that had
