Lord Arthur Saviles Crime | Page 2

very
tattered lace shawl, so as to be ready to go at a moment's notice.
'Of course he is here; I would not dream of giving a party without him.
He tells me I have a pure psychic hand, and that if my thumb had been
the least little bit shorter, I should have been a confirmed pessimist, and
gone into a convent.'
'Oh, I see!' said the Duchess, feeling very much relieved; 'he tells
fortunes, I suppose?'
'And misfortunes, too,' answered Lady Windermere, 'any amount of
them. Next year, for instance, I am in great danger, both by land and
sea, so I am going to live in a balloon, and draw up my dinner in a
basket every evening. It is all written down on my little finger, or on
the palm of my hand, I forget which.'
'But surely that is tempting Providence, Gladys.'
'My dear Duchess, surely Providence can resist temptation by this time.
I think every one should have their hands told once a month, so as to
know what not to do. Of course, one does it all the same, but it is so
pleasant to be warned. Now if some one doesn't go and fetch Mr.
Podgers at once, I shall have to go myself.'
'Let me go, Lady Windermere,' said a tall handsome young man, who

was standing by, listening to the conversation with an amused smile.
'Thanks so much, Lord Arthur; but I am afraid you wouldn't recognise
him.'
'If he is as wonderful as you say, Lady Windermere, I couldn't well
miss him. Tell me what he is like, and I'll bring him to you at once.'
'Well, he is not a bit like a cheiromantist. I mean he is not mysterious,
or esoteric, or romantic-looking. He is a little, stout man, with a funny,
bald head, and great gold-rimmed spectacles; something between a
family doctor and a country attorney. I'm really very sorry, but it is not
my fault. People are so annoying. All my pianists look exactly like
poets, and all my poets look exactly like pianists; and I remember last
season asking a most dreadful conspirator to dinner, a man who had
blown up ever so many people, and always wore a coat of mail, and
carried a dagger up his shirt-sleeve; and do you know that when he
came he looked just like a nice old clergyman, and cracked jokes all the
evening? Of course, he was very amusing, and all that, but I was
awfully disappointed; and when I asked him about the coat of mail, he
only laughed, and said it was far too cold to wear in England. Ah, here
is Mr. Podgers! Now, Mr. Podgers, I want you to tell the Duchess of
Paisley's hand. Duchess, you must take your glove off. No, not the left
hand, the other.'
'Dear Gladys, I really don't think it is quite 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.
'Economy is not the least of your Grace's virtues,' continued Mr.
Podgers, and Lady Windermere went off into fits of laughter.
'Economy is a very good thing,' remarked the Duchess complacently;
'when I married Paisley he had eleven castles, and not a single house fit
to live in.'
'And now he has twelve houses, and not a single castle,' cried Lady
Windermere.
'Well, my dear,' said the Duchess, 'I like--'
'Comfort,' said Mr. Podgers, 'and modern improvements, and hot water
laid on in every bedroom. Your Grace is quite right. Comfort is the
only thing our civilisation can give us.
'You have told the Duchess's character admirably,