"Angry with you! Never!"
"Marcos, I saw on your hand more than you dream. Hush, listen to me; you are contemplating flight."
"That is not a difficult thing to see. If things do not improve here, many of us will be driven into clearing out. You must be smarter than that, Juanita."
"Oh, but that is not all. I see that you have sent great treasure away to a far country, and that you intend to follow it."
"This is beautiful! What—what else?"
"That your professed love for me is only lip service, for you intend to desert me."
"That is about as true as the rest. Have you anything further?"
"That your treasure amounts to over £200,000 of English money, and that it is directed to a—let me see,"—here she pretended to study his hand again,—"Sir Benjamin Plowden (bah! your English names!) who lives in the East India Avenue of your great smoky London. Is that true? Ah! I see it is."
There was a ring of triumph in her voice. She had played a doubtful card, and scored a victory. For the moment Veneda was totally unnerved; his face, pale before, was now snow-white; large beads of perspiration covered his forehead.
"How did you learn all that nonsense?" he stammered.