"Ethel, how can you speak so? Have I ever forgotten you? Did I not bring you from abroad more costly gifts than I brought Precious?"
"Earle, forgive me; I was only jesting;" she cried quickly. But the pretense did not deceive the brother, who said to himself:
"Ethel is as foolishly jealous as ever. What a pity!"
But he put his arm around her and kissed the rosy cheek.
"You are more beautiful than ever, dear, and I have heard it whispered that you will some day be—Lady Chester," he whispered.
"Do not speak to me of Lord Chester. I hate him!" cried Ethel, and fled, sobbing wildly, to her own room.
She might weep all she would over her false lover now, and they would only think it was grief for her sister. Her maid thought so when she came into the room with tearful eyes and said eagerly:
"Oh, miss, if you'd take my advice you'd go to see a fortune-teller about Miss Precious. I know one in South Washington almost out in the country, and she tells very true."
"Nonsense, Hetty; they have no knowledge of the future—no more than we have."