Mother and son bent eagerly to hear, hoping to gain some clew to the mystery that seemed to surround the little one. “Do you mean the lady that was on the train with you?” asked the young man. “Yes--Mattie,” eagerly. “Was she your mamma, dear?” Mrs. de Vere inquired. “No, no!” said Sweetheart, quickly. “Not mamma; only Mattie!” “Your nurse, perhaps?” “Only des Mattie, dat’s all,” was the uncompromising reply; and although they questioned her closely, they could get nothing definite from her. She had only some vague ideas of a beautiful mamma, who called her Sweetheart, and who taught her to sing some pretty little song. The shock of all she had gone through had somehow blunted the keenness of her memory, and after that one flash of recollection when she had called for Mattie so eagerly, she said no more of the past, and presently the tired head drooped to Norman’s arm and she slept heavily. The young man laid her softly on the bed, kissed the sweet little sleeping face, and turned to go. “Mother, won’t you join us in the drawing-room this evening? I should think Nance might sit awhile with Sweetheart,” he said. “Perhaps,” she answered, evasively; and then he went away, wondering uneasily whether Camille would be angry because he had stayed longer than he had intended, for the simple reason that he had feared to put the sleeping child out of his arms, lest she should be awakened. To his relief, Camille was not yet in the drawing-room. “She has not yet finished dressing for dinner,” he thought, and rushed upstairs to make his own toilet for the eight-o’clock dinner. He hurried some, but he looked wondrously handsome when he came down again. “No Camille yet!” he exclaimed, in wonder; and it was several minutes more before the queenly woman entered the room, elegantly attired as usual, her eyes glittering with excitement, her cheeks even more colorless than their usual wont. CHAPTER XV. “You are rather late,” the young man said, smilingly, as Camille came up to him for a caress. “I had a new novel, and I was so interested in it that I could scarcely put it down to dress,” she replied, and just then the dinner-bell rang. Norman gave his arm to his beautiful wife, and she went with him to the elegant dining-room, where they dined _tête-à-tête_, for the elder Mrs. de Vere had had her own meals served upstairs ever since she had been nursing the little invalid. Never had Norman’s proud, beautiful wife been more charming than to-night. She was restless, brilliant, and more fond of her husband than she had ever seemed before. Her hazel eyes shot gleams of passion as they rested on the handsome face opposite her, and she seemed to realize more fully than ever the strength of her love for the husband who adored her, although he had had to bear so much at her capricious hands.