“Put them on, again,” she said, holding out her white arms, as if the glittering jewelry held by her maid were manacles of iron. “Nothing seems to become me, to-night.” “Indeed, madam, I never saw you look so lovely; no girl ever had an air like that.” This professional flattery was received by the lady with a quick feeling of interest. She longed to believe the girl; longed to think that much of the freshness and dew of her youth remained. “Ellen,” she said, with an appeal for truth in her words, and a piteous shrinking from it in her eyes, “no one will look on me with your partial eyes; suppose you had not seen me since I was—well, since I was married to Mr. Lambert, you remember that, just a chasm of so many years to leap over, would you find me so little changed then?” “Indeed, ma’am, and I would!” The girl spoke honestly; flattery had become second nature to her, and she believed every word of it. Mrs. Lambert drew a soft, deep breath; she had lost faith in her own judgment, and it was pleasant to have her doubts swept away, even by the opinion of a menial. She drew on her gloves, and took up her fan, with a bouquet of tea-roses that old Storms had sent up. “Madam, are you ready?” “Yes, Ivon.” The young man stepped into the room with an exclamation of surprise at his step-mother’s beauty. The admiration was genuine; Mrs. Lambert’s eyes kindled under it, and a warm blush swept across her face. “It is because you love me, Ivon.” “No, it is because I cannot help thinking you the loveliest woman in society. I never saw but one——” The young man broke off, blushing more vividly than his mother had done. “Well, that one, Ivon?” said the lady, with shadows gathering upon her face. “Surely, you cannot mean—” “But I do, mother; to me there is only one other—but we will not speak of her. The carriage is waiting.” Mrs. Lambert allowed Ellen to wrap her in a soft, white opera cloak, and bent her head for a cloud of zephyr worsted, that fell as light as snow upon it. At another time, she might have felt angry with Ivon for his mention of a girl she repudiated. But now she was self-occupied, and scarcely heeded it; so, wrapping the snow-white mantle around her, she descended to the carriage, with a feeling of anxiety which had not possessed her for years. CHAPTER XXXV. A STRANGE PROPOSAL. An hour before Mrs. Lambert commenced her toilet, Mrs. Carter entered her own private sitting-room in full dress, ready for her duties as a hostess. Her brother had sent up word that he wished to speak with her before the guests began to arrive, and she was waiting for him with some impatience, for the grand epoch was drawing nigh, and she was rather anxious about the state of affairs below. She was fanning herself with vigor, wondering in her heart what Ross could have to say, when the artist came in.