IVON AND EVA.
A handsomer couple than Ivon Lambert and Eva Laurence never measured
perfect happiness to music. Tall, graceful, thrilled with a glow of
unspoken love, they fairly floated through the ball-room, which was soon
crowded with a circle of curious admirers.
The beauty of this unknown girl had created a wide sensation among Mr.
Carter’s guests—a sensation intensified by the hints and jeers flung out
by Miss Spicer, who felt herself relieved of a rival, and, next to
conquest, loved that species of piquant gossip that approaches a
scandal. That young lady had been busy as a humming-bird, in a wild
trumpet vine, circulating all that she knew of Eva Laurence—her origin,
her occupation, and her engagement to the greatest genius just then in
fashion.
All this time Eva, unconscious of the general interest, was dancing more
than was proper for a betrothed young lady, with Ivon Lambert.
Who was this girl? Was she really engaged? Had she, in fact, on her very
first appearance, enthralled the two men most sought after in
fashionable circles? A shop-girl, with that air of grace and refinement?
Impossible! That, at least, must be one of Miss Spicer’s canards. Why,
in every respect, this girl had all the qualifications of a Reigning
Belle.
These were only a few of the whispered comments that went around the
circle, as these young people moved harmoniously among the dancers,
unconscious of the general attention bestowed upon them.
In the pause of the dance, Ivon noticed the cluster of flowers that
bloomed upon his partner’s bosom. Eva blushed when she saw where his
eyes were directed.
“You accepted them,” he said, with a smile, “without knowing how many
wild thoughts were bound up with the blossoms. Had you dreamed of those
thoughts, I fear my violets would not have rested on that bosom now.”
Eva looked down at her flowers, that rose and fell suddenly, as if they
had been cast on the snowy crest of a wave, then she lifted her eyes to
his—a single glance, and the white lids drooped again.
Ivon smiled, and his eyes flashed. He required no better answer than
that one look. His arm stole around her waist again. Now the thrill of
assured sympathy lent them wings. No two birds in mid heaven were ever
more alone, or gave themselves up so entirely to the grace of motion.
They seemed literally floating on the music.
When the band stopped, Eva drew a deep, deep sigh—the abrupt silence
dragged her out of heaven so suddenly.
Earlier in the evening Ivon had seen the glow of flowers, amid
softly-shaded lamps, in a vista, from the great drawing-room, and led
Eva gently that way. As for the girl, the whole scene was fairy land to
her, and all places alike, while he was by her side. She was quite
unconscious of the admiration, the gossip, and conjectures that followed
her, as she was led through the crowd; equally unmindful of the vast
social distance which lay between her position, and that of the young
man whose attentions had drawn all eyes upon her.
Adam never led Eve into a lovelier nook of Paradise, than the little
world of flowers in which the girl at last found herself. Everything was
quiet there, even the soft tinkle and low, mellow sound of water-drops,
as they rained over the marble floor, and pattered on the broad-leaved
plants that floated on the fountain.
The two stood together in silence. The sound of a voice, even in its
lowest love-tones, would have broken up the exquisite harmony of the
place. Her hand lay upon his arm; he took it in his own, and held it
tenderly, as if it had been a flower, and looked into her downcast face,
which had been etherealized in the lamp light.
“Eva!”
His voice was low and deep, scarcely rising above the sweet noise of the
fountain.
Eva looked up suddenly; then her eyes fell to the marble floor, where
the red petals of an over-ripe rose had dropped and lay glowing like
rubies.
“Eva, can you imagine—have you ever dreamed how much I love you?”
Her hand trembled in his. She caught one of the red rose-leaves, as it
was quivering downward, and dropped it again, with a sigh of infinite
happiness. Another leaf lodged upon her lip, and for an instant trembled
there, scarcely redder or sweeter than the mouth it touched. Ivon
stooped down, and with his lips gathered the leaf from hers. She made no
resistance; but drew closer to him, and the clasp of her fingers grew
warm and tender.
“One word, Eva; only one. May I love you?”
She lifted her eyes to his. The light of stars seemed quivering in them.
“How can you ask me? Have I not permitted it already?”
The young man drew her gently to his bosom, and laid his cheek to hers,
as doves creep together in a nest.
“And you love me?”
“A thousand times better than myself,” she answered.
“And some day, not long from this, you will be my wife?”