CHAPTER XXXVIII.
FIGHTING ANGUISH.
Among the last of the guests was Mrs. Lambert, with Ivon and Miss Spicer. The lady had lost something of her usual graceful repose, and her eyes shone excitedly under the light of her clustering diamonds.
Ross was speaking in a low voice to Eva when this lady came up to pay her respects to the hostess. An expression of tender interest was on his face, and the girl answered it with a grateful smile. The woman’s heart stopped beating; a deadly faintness seized upon her. For a moment she went blind; voices greeted her on all sides; she could not move through a throng like that without pausing every moment to receive the homage of her satellites. But this evening she passed on, hearing nothing, seeing nothing but those two faces.
Still the habit of society was upon its queen. Her salutations had their usual grace, she spoke blandly to the hostess and the host, bent her head to Ross, and ignored Eva utterly.
The girl blushed, and felt the pain of coming tears, for Ivon Lambert was with his mother. Would he too repudiate her.
No, the young man bent before her as if she had been a princess, and would have spoken, but Mrs. Lambert, who leaned on his arm, turned abruptly away. He felt the shiver that ran through her frame, and saw the diamonds on her bosom heave and fall, as if she panted for breath. Others noticed how pale she was, and detected the delicate shade of rouge, thrown into relief by that pallor—a thing they had never dreamed of before.
Ivon led the lady to a sofa, around which her friends thronged, full of anxious inquiries, each concealing a compliment.
“It was nothing,” the lady said, her foot had slipped in getting out of the carriage, and gave her pain for a moment. That was all.
This really seemed to be true. The lady had a strong will and indomitable pride. The blood came back to her face fresh and vivid, her eyes grew bright as stars. She, who seldom went beyond a smile, laughed now a low, sweet laugh, that penetrated the crowd with an under cadence that thrilled it. No young girl ever felt the storm of jealousy like that. The maturity of passion was there, breaking through all power of concealment.
The crowd did not care to search for the cause of this brilliant animation, or some one there might have read that proud heart, in all its fire and pain, and she could not have helped it. As it was, her lips had never been so eloquent, her figure so gracefully impressive. The circle around her was lost in admiration.