Carey Doyle shook his fist and raved impatiently:
“Thunderation! I say he shall not! I’ll follow them to the park, frighten his horses, and make them run away and break both the upstarts’ necks.”
“What good would that do, you foolish fellow? Better dismiss them both from your mind and stick to Yetta.”
“I won’t, so there! I swear to have Jessie Lyndon, by hook or crook!”
“You cannot succeed. I have read both their hands, and if the science of palmistry is true, which I firmly believe, those two, Laurier, the millionaire, and Jessie, the little working girl, are meant for each other by fate.”
“Bah, curse palmistry! Didn’t you read my hand and tell me a pack of lies?”
“No, I told you that a prison yawned for you, and that only a lawyer’s quibble would be able to save your neck from the gallows. I begged you to restrain your evil propensities and try to avert the disaster if you could! And I read all this written in your hand as plain as print,” returned the fortune teller solemnly, with full faith in her art; but, with an oath of incredulous scorn, her nephew limped heavily out of the house.
CHAPTER VII.
THE BEAUTIFUL RIVALS.
When the beautiful brunette in her drive through the park met Jessie Lyndon riding by the side of Frank Laurier, all the blood in her veins seemed momentarily to turn to ice in the shock of surprise, and then to burn like liquid fire under the impulse of jealous rage.
If a look could have killed, the fierce gleam of her eyes must have slain her fair rival instantly, as by a lightning flash!