“To that, no act of mine shall tempt you,” said Eva. “I see now how vain and unwise it was to accept this invitation.” “Oh, Eva, how wild and unkind all this is! A moment ago I was supremely happy. Now the violence of a lady, who has, in fact, no authority over us, is enough to turn you against me.” “No,” said Eva, “if she had not aroused me with such cruel violence, it must have come to the same thing. I have no part in this scene, no place among the more fortunate women who grace it.” “But you have a place in my heart, Eva.” “I know it; but that is a misfortune which I have brought upon you.” “A misfortune! It is my glory. Understand me, Eva. From this night, you are my betrothed wife. Nothing shall separate us; no, not even your own proud will.” Eva smiled, but the smile was more pathetic than tears. “Ah, if my will were all!” “That, going with me, girl, no power on earth shall reach us.” His courage and his ardor failed to inspire her. She had been cruelly wounded, and the pride she was scarcely conscious of, armed her against him. “Let me go now,” she said, preparing to leave the conservatory. “Not till you have promised; not till your dear lips have once answered mine,” he replied, straining her to his bosom again, spite of her breathless protest. “Leave everything to me. Have no fear that your womanly dignity will suffer, or that I shall yield one jot of the independence that belongs to me.” Eva had no heart to answer. She withdrew herself gently from his arms, and moved toward the door, pale and trembling; for, to her, it was a final parting. He followed her haughty and resolute. CHAPTER XLIII. 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.”