To such thoughts she stepped brightly forward, her garments fluttering in the wind, and a large bunch of daffodils in her hands. As she approached Seventeenth Street, she felt a sudden impulse to answer an unknown gaze; and she let her eyes wander among the advancing crowd. In an instant they fell upon Ida Stirling and Mr. Duval. They were walking together, and their air was that of lovers; and Rose felt that they were talking about her. For a moment she was stunned; her soul was really knocked down, and her body felt unable to lift it. The next moment she stumbled on, with flaming cheeks, and ears so painfully alert that they heard every tone of the mocking little laugh which saluted her in the passing. Ida was looking into Duval's face, and affected not to see Rose; but Duval stared insolently at her, without a token of recognition. She had herself, in the momentary pause, made a faint inquisitive smile, a slight movement that she could not restrain, but which she instantly felt to be the most shameful wrong to herself. It was answered--if at all--by that mockery of a laugh which entered her ears like the point of a sword and reached her heart through them. Blindly, breathing in short gasps, she reached her carriage; and with a great effort gave the order "home." She was distracted. Her anger burned inward, set her blood on fire, and shook her like an earthquake. Her lover and her friend, both false! All her confidences betrayed! Her poor heart laid bare for their scorn and mirth! It was impossible to endure so abominable a wrong. She was struck dumb with it. She knew no words to express her distress. She could not rest a moment, sleep fled from her; her inner self was in a chaos of indescribable suffering. In the morning she was physically ill; a great nausea, a burning fever, and a pain in every limb subdued her. All night her soul had seemed a substance made of fire; in the morning, it was dulled and numbed by her bodily agony; for pain is indeed perfect misery, and the very worst of mortal evils. Mrs. Filmer and a doctor were sent for; and Rose lay nearly two weeks, stunned and suffering from the soul-blow she had received. Much of the time she was hardly conscious of the present, moaning and fretful when awake, and when asleep lost in the unutterable desolation of dreams, full of portentous shapes and awful suggestions. Her life had lost its balance, and she had lost her foothold on it in consequence. "Am I very ill, mamma?" she asked mournfully, one midnight. "Not very, my dear Rose. You are beginning to get better. The doctor thinks you have had a severe mental shock. What was it? Antony?" "No; not Antony. Antony is not brutal. Am I strong enough to talk, mamma?" "It may do you good to talk--to tell me what made you ill." "I met Ida Stirling and Mr. Duval walking together. They laughed in my face as they passed me. And I had told Ida everything--everything!" "Do you mean about Antony?"