Eva Laurence lifted her eyelids with a sudden flash, and stepped back from the insolent touch of that parasol, with a gesture at once haughty and graceful. Then, remembering what was expected of her, she moved across the floor, displaying the shawl in every fold as it swept from her shoulders, down the long, black train of her dress. All other eyes were fixed upon the garment, but young Lambert saw that her bosom heaved, and the hands folded over the shawl trembled. He was turning away, touched by this evidence of painful embarrassment, when Miss Spicer darted forward, seized upon Eva’s train, and spread it out upon the floor, exclaiming, “There now, that’s something like. Isn’t it superb?” “It is, indeed!” answered Mrs. Lambert, surveying the tall, well-formed girl with her glass. “What do you think, of it Ivon?” “What do I think, mother? Why, that the young lady will be tired to death before you have made up your mind. Permit me——” Here young Lambert lifted the shawl gently from Eva’s shoulders, and laid it on the counter. Eva drew a deep breath and moved off to a window, resentful and hurt, she could scarcely tell why—for had she not come to that place for the very purpose that wounded her so? Did she not receive extra compensation because her stately figure carried off those costly garments to such advantage? What right had she that this patrician party had invaded? Still the girl’s cheek burned, and her shoulders felt heavy, as if a burden more oppressive than twenty shawls bore them down. CHAPTER II. THE GIRL OF THE TIMES. While Mrs. Lambert was completing the purchase of her shawl, the young man moved quietly about the room, carrying his cane in one well-gloved hand, with which he manifested a little impatience, as most men do when forced into a shopping excursion with members of their own family; but, with all his restlessness, he kept Eva Laurence well in view, wondering in his heart who she was, and how she came to be in that strange position. Miss Spicer, too, had her curiosity. Troubled with no sensitive hesitation, she watched the girl in a bold, staring way, now and then turning a quizzical look on young Lambert, which brought the color to his face. “Stylish, ha!” she whispered, taking the young man’s cane from his hand. “Stop here often after this, I dare say—I would if I carried one of these things.” The young lady gave emphasis to her words by a dashing flourish of the cane, which, being a flexible, gold-mounted affair, she was twisting back and forth in her hands. The young gentleman made a gesture as if to reclaim his property. Miss Spicer gave up the cane. Eva Laurence saw all this, though her drooping eyes seemed fixed on the floor, and the proud heart burned with in her; for now and then Miss Spicer glanced across the piles of merchandise to where she stood, taking no pains to conceal that she was an object of curiosity, if not of conversation.