HERSELF AGAIN.
Eva took refuge with Mrs. Carter, who still maintained her post in the
drawing-room.
“Are you tired, Eva? Has anything happened to distress you?”
Eva turned, and saw Mr. Ross, whose low, fatherly voice was like a balm
to her wounded self-love.
“I am a little tired, and all this bewilders me,” Eva replied, lifting
her troubled eyes to his. “Ah, Mr. Ross, I have no real place here.”
“That is to be decided,” said Ross. “Come with me to the supper-room. A
glass of wine will do no harm here.”
Ross was about to lead her away, when she uttered a faint exclamation,
and clung nervously to his arm. Mrs. Lambert was making her way toward
the hostess, and the very sight of her sent the proud blood to Eva’s
cheek.
Proud, graceful, and entirely herself again, Mrs. Lambert swept up to
Mrs. Carter. She had drained more than one glass of champagne, at the
supper-table, where the sparkle of her wit, and the hitherto unknown
sound of her laughter, had entranced and dazzled her admirers.
“Never,” they all said, “had the queen of fashion shone out with such
wonderful splendor. Something must have inspired her.”
Something had inspired her, more potent than admiration, more fiery than
wine; the burning pangs of jealousy, added to a cruel defeat, where she
had staked her very soul.
Smiling, bland, and wonderfully beautiful, she came up to say farewell.
Ross did not attempt to retreat, but waited her approach with dignified
calmness. He felt Eva’s hand tremble on his arm, but could not
comprehend the cause.
Mrs. Lambert did not attempt to ignore the girl then, but passed from
the hostess, and took leave of her with ironical politeness, which was
extended to Ross, who received it with a grave bow. For once in many
years the lady had given way to overwhelming passion; but her will was
strong, and habit aided her in concealing the pangs that had stricken
her lifeless in the conservatory.
But the restraint she had forced upon herself was beyond endurance. She
neither waited for Ivon or Miss Spicer, but accepted the first offered
arm, went through the ceremony of leave-taking with fortitude, though
the two persons she most loved and hated, stood by the hostess, and
gayly bade good-night to her escort, as she entered her carriage.
When once alone, the passions, so long held in restraint, broke forth
vehemently. The woman wrung her hands, fell upon her knees, and, burying
her face in the silken cushions of her carriage, sobbed, moaned, and
writhed, with a force of anguish that threatened her very life.
Meantime, Miss Spicer had found Ivon in the crowd and captured him at
once.
“Where on earth is Mrs. Lambert? I have been searching and searching for
her. She was at the supper-table one minute; but before I could fight my
way to her, she was gone. One might as well have no chaperon at all, as
wander about in this wild fashion.”
“We shall soon find my mother,” said Ivon.
“Yes, by the crowd that surrounds her. I wonder if she will ever give up
her place as a reigning belle? It looks to-night as if that shop-girl
were going to step in! Ten thousand pardons; I forget that she was a
special friend of yours.”
“You mean Miss Laurence. She is a friend that I am proud to own.”
“But you will not own her long, as Miss Laurence, let me tell you. What
luck some people have! She is engaged.”
“Indeed! Since when, and to whom?” said Ivon, indifferently, for he had
no faith in Miss Spicer’s sources of information.
“I don’t know when; but the man I am certain of. It is Mr. Ross.”
“Mr. Ross!”
Ivon was aroused now; the very name startled him. Other thoughts crowded
in. Why had the Carters taken such sudden interest in the girl? Why had
she accepted his declaration of love, but so resolutely refused his
hand?
“Has the news struck you dumb?” exclaimed Miss Spicer, with a short
laugh. “One would think so.”
“Idle gossip, Miss Spicer, seldom has that power over me.”
“Gossip! Why, the engagement is declared. I got it from Mrs. Carter
herself.”
“Is this true?”
“As the gospel. Ask her yourself. She doesn’t seem ashamed of the match,
but presents the girl to any one that comes up. Disgusting, isn’t it. As
if she had not trouble enough to get into society herself, without
that.”
In his anxiety Ivon had turned toward the drawing-room, which Mrs.
Lambert had just left. At the door he met the gentleman who had placed
her in the carriage.
“Ah! I have discovered you at last,” he said, addressing Miss Spicer.
“Mrs. Lambert has gone home. She desired me to say that the carriage
would be sent back for you.”
“The idea!” exclaimed that young lady, casting a significant glance at
Ivon. “Does she expect us to ride home alone? People will say that we
are engaged.”
“Very naturally,” answered the gentleman; at which Miss Spicer struck
him with her fan, exclaiming again, “The idea!”
The gentleman passed on, laughing pleasantly. Ivon and his companion
entered the great drawing-room.
“There they stand now! Does that look like an engagement?” cried the
young lady. “Watch their faces, see her eyes. What an artful way she has
of lifting them—practises at the counter, I suppose. Do you believe me
now?”
Miss Spicer used her own eyes as she spoke, and saw that Ivon was deadly
pale. Still, she had no mercy on him.
“There! See how he bends over her! What expression! What tender interest
one can read in his face! No wonder she looks at him so earnestly. He is
the handsomest man I have seen this year, spite of a few grey hairs.
Rich, too, or will be; for the Carters mean to give them everything.
Isn’t she in a good run of luck?”
Ivon did not answer, but led his companion to the mistress of the house,
and went through the ceremony of leave-taking quietly, and as if nothing
had happened; but his face was colorless, and the hand which touched
Eva’s in parting, was cold as stone.
“Why, one would think the girl had rejected you, by the color of your
face,” said Miss Spicer, as Ivon went with her from the room. He
answered her very quietly,
“She has rejected me!”