right' said the Duchess, feebly unbuttoning a rather soiled kid glove.
'Nothing interesting ever is,' said Lady Windermere: 'on a fait le monde ainsi. But I must introduce you. Duchess, this is Mr. Podgers, my pet cheiromantist. Mr. Podgers, this is the Duchess of Paisley, and if you say that she has a larger mountain of the moon than I have, I will never believe in you again.'
'I am sure, Gladys, there is nothing of the kind in my hand,' said the Duchess gravely.
'Your Grace is quite right,' said Mr. Podgers, glancing at the little fat hand with its short square fingers, 'the mountain of the moon is not developed. The line of life, however, is excellent. Kindly bend the wrist. Thank you. Three distinct lines on the rascette! You will live to a great age, Duchess, and be extremely happy. Ambition—very moderate, line of intellect not exaggerated, line of heart——'
'Now, do be indiscreet, Mr. Podgers,' cried Lady Windermere.
'Nothing would give me greater pleasure,' said Mr. Podgers, bowing, 'if the Duchess ever had been, but I am sorry to say that I see great permanence of affection, combined with a strong sense of duty.'
'Pray go on, Mr. Podgers,' said the Duchess, looking quite pleased.
