“Who? Why Ross, the genius—Mrs. Carter’s brother. He is going to marry that Laurence girl. Mrs. Carter told me so herself.”
“She told you so?”
The woman’s voice was low and hoarse; those who had listened to her a minute before would not have known it.
“Yes, and her husband repeated it; he is going to give them all his money in the end. Isn’t it disgusting!”
“Did they tell you this?”
“Indeed they did. He is with her now. I saw them going toward the dancing-room.”
Mrs. Lambert arose, took the arm of a gentleman nearest her, and moved toward the dancers. She did not speak, could not, in fact, for a band seemed tightening about her throat.
Over the black-walnut floor, with its mosaic border of satin-wood circling the room a yard deep, a maze of dancers were whirling in and out, swaying gracefully to the music, as young trees bend to the wind. Among them was Ross and Eva Laurence, her hand was upon his shoulder, his arm circled her waist, yet scarcely touched it. He was still in the prime of manly beauty, and the girl was loveliness itself. She was dancing with all the spirit and grace of one to whom the exercise was a delightful novelty; and he seemed to feel the glow of her happiness in every nerve of his body. When they rested, he stooped over her lovingly, and smiled as she lifted her eyes to his. If ever exquisite tenderness softened a human face, the woman who watched his so eagerly, saw it there.
Oh! how she hated that girl! With what bitter despair she gazed on the man.
A sort of fascination possessed Mrs. Lambert; she lingered in the room, and seemed absorbed by a scene that had long since ceased to interest her; but her observation was fixed on one couple; she saw every look, watched every motion with a strange gleam in her eyes, and an ominous compression of her lips.