"Mother, forgive me," she weeps. "Do I not remember all your bitter wrongs and mine, and how often my young heart burned to avenge them? And shall I shrink back now when the flaming sword is in my hand, and I am able to crush your enemy into the dust? No, no! What matter if it breaks my heart? My gentle mother, yours was broken, too. And though I tread on burning plow-shares, I will keep my oath of vengeance." No faltering; no looking back now. Something of her father's haughty spirit is infused into Lady Vera's soul. Her dark eyes light with the strange fire that burns on the altar of her heart, and when her lover comes anxiously to seek her, she has recovered all her usual calmness, and greets him with a smile. "You are better, dear?" he exclaims. "Yes, and we will return to the ball-room now," she answers, resting her icy fingers lightly against his arm. Passing from the subdued light of the conservatory into the glare of the ball-room, they come face to face with Leslie, with Ivy hanging on his arm, flushed and heated from the dance. Lady Vera lifts her head with stag-like grace, and looks steadily into their eyes, but beyond an insolent stare from Ivy, and a glance of warm admiration from the man, they give no sign of recognition. Lady Vera passes on, and Lady Clive comes up to her, laughing. "My dear, you have seen our country people--the rich Americans," she says. "How do you like them?" "I will tell you some day," she answers, in a strange tone, yet with a careless smile. Still later in the evening Lady Spencer seeks out the countess. "Dear Lady Fairvale, will you allow me to introduce to you our American guests?" she asks. "They are most anxious to know the beauty of the season." Lady Vera, growing pale as her white robe, draws her slight form proudly erect. "Pray, pardon my rudeness, Lady Spencer," she answers, coldly. "But I must decline. I do not wish to know them." CHAPTER XXIII. Society, which likes nothing better than a bit of gossip, commented considerably on the Countess of Fairvale's refusal to know the rich Americans. There were some who blamed her and thought she was over-nice and proud. The American Consul vouched for their respectability, and their style of living attested to their wealth. What more could she desire? Everyone else received them on equal terms. Why did Lady Vera hold out so obstinately against speaking to them? It could only be a girl's foolish whim--nothing more, for she assigned no reason for her refusal. But it created some little embarrassment at first. People did not like to invite the countess and the Americans together for fear of an unpleasant collision. They could not slight Lady Vera, and they did not wish to offend the Americans. The affair was quite unpleasant, and created some little notoriety.