The note began coldly. It addressed her as Mrs. Lambert—the hateful name that clung around her like a serpent now. In that name the writer embodied ten thousand reproaches—a world of withering contempt. It was needless, she thought, to utter it in any other form. Still, he made, or implied, a request—that was something; a request, where he might have commanded, and she would not have dared to disobey. It was a little matter. He had just learned that an invitation had been sent to Mrs. Lambert for his sister’s party—a thing he had not thought to provide against—and which might seem like an ungenerous effort to place her in a false position. It was, perhaps, best that they two should learn to meet in the world to which she belonged, and thus spare themselves the pain of such accidental encounters as circumstances might force upon them; but of that, she must judge, and hold herself free to accept, or refuse, this invitation to his sister’s house, as her own wishes might dictate. The note was cold and formal enough. Ross said nothing of his own wishes, but left her free—a thing which no woman ever yet desired, where the man she loved was concerned. But, chilling as it was, this woman pressed it to her lips and her heart, with a wild and passionate fervor never known to her girlhood, or that of any other woman. Over and over again she devoured the words with her eyes, and would, if possible, have plucked them from the paper with her lips. Would she go? Would she meet him again? Yes; if an army had stood between her and him, she would have forced a passage through. So completely had her heart taken up its old passion for the man whom she had cruelly wronged. CHAPTER XXXI. BITTER JEALOUSY. Miss Spicer was not given to much ceremony at the Lambert mansion. In an hour after she went down those broad steps with Ivon Lambert, her high-heeled boots pattered up them again; for the young man had lifted his hat politely to her, when they came opposite a fashionable club-house, and sought refuge there. The young lady had stood on the side-walk long enough to get up a laugh, and clench her parasol, which she shook at him, to the edification and amusement of half a dozen young men gathered in the club-house windows. Then she retraced her steps, and, much to her disgust, walked up the Avenue alone, making keen observations as she went. All at once the young lady started off into a quick walk, and, having obtained admittance at the front door, ran up stairs. Without waiting for an answer to her knock, she darted into the boudoir, and found Mrs. Lambert lying on the couch. “Do get up, this minute, Mrs. Lambert; they are going by—that girl and the gentleman we were talking of. What an awful flirt she must be—first one man and then another. It’s just abominable! Oh, how I wish Ivon could see her now!”