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.