“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.