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?”