Miss Spicer let her parasol drop to the floor, and clapped both hands. “That is splendid! Then we can all accept. They tell me her house was like a curiosity-shop, when her brother, a great artist, came from abroad, and pitched all the trash she had been collecting, into the stable. He’s splendid, every one says! Awfully handsome, and so aristocratic. I know half a dozen girls that are dying to go on his account. The wall-flowers are all in a flutter, I can tell you, for he isn’t young.” Mrs. Lambert arose hastily, walked across the room, and re-arranged the folds of an amber-satin curtain, that fell over a broad window of the boudoir. In her nervous haste, she loosened the heavy cords that held it, flooding the window with silken drapery, and the room with mellow, golden light. Miss Spicer laughed, lifted her parasol from the floor, and began gathering up the folds of silk with it, thus throwing Mrs. Lambert’s face into full light. “Why, how strangely you look!” she said, in her reckless way. “Pale as a ghost! Wanted air, and going to open the window. I’ll do it for you.” A gush of fresh air swept through the open sash, and brought some color to Mrs. Lambert’s face. “Are you better, dear madam?” said Ivon, approaching the window with tender anxiety. “Better! No, indeed! I’ve not been ill. It was only the shadows thrown from this yellow drapery. Help me draw the cords. No, no! leave the lace down, a softened light is pleasanter. Now, Ivon, I will not detain you or Miss Spicer from your walk.” “That is giving us both a polite dismissal,” cried the young lady, laughing. “Well, come along, Mr. Lambert, your maternal ancestor gives permission. I won’t take your arm unless you insist. No one will have a right to think us engaged, if I walk along demurely by myself, not even the pretty——What, frowning! Well, I never will say she’s pretty again—never! never! never!” CHAPTER XXX. OLD MEMORIES AND PRESENT STRUGGLES. It was some moments before Miss Spicer’s voice died away at the front door; and for a long time Mrs. Lambert walked to and fro on that moss-like carpet, treading down its clustering blossoms as if she longed to trample them out of sight forever. The elegant coldness of her manner had vanished entirely; her hands were clenched, her lips moved, uttering nothing but shadowy words, until at last they broke into sound.