“I don’t care what you know,” exclaimed Jean with ill temper. “But if you detain me longer I will let the town officer know what sort of place you conduct. How did you know about me and my letter? How did you tell my fortune?”
“From my ball, of course,” said the woman. “How else could I tell? And I remember it. You are to be careful about the girl you hate. If you say one word against her, you will be the one who will suffer. Give me my dollar.”
Jean was now perplexed. Plainly if she did not humor the woman she would be late for class, and she could not well risk a second offence after that which had caused her so much indignity.
“Will you promise to tell me how you knew about that letter if I give you a dollar?” she asked.
“Yes, indeed, I will,” the woman answered.
Jean opened her purse, and handed out a dollar bill.
“Now tell me,” she demanded.
The fortune teller fingered the dollar greedily.
“I knew about it—because I saw it in my ball. Tell the other girls that and Shebad’s luck will turn.”
Jean scowled at her, but did not deign to answer. She ran on quickly to the post-office, but her mind went faster than her steps. Somehow, the woman held an influence over her. She could tell nothing of Dorothy Dale’s father’s business! What could it matter? What could happen if she did? Yet she feared to do so.