At last the music ceased, and Ross was leading his partner to a seat, when Ivon Lambert came up and claimed her. Then her face changed like a rose suddenly struck by the sunshine; a delicate glow swept over it; her eyes drooped when his hand touched her waist; she leaned toward him as a flower bends on its stalk.
Mrs. Lambert saw this and drew a deep breath. “Youth,” she whispered to herself, “turns to youth. I will not believe it.”
Mrs. Lambert turned and saw that Ross stood beside her. She drew her hand from the gentleman who had led her to the room, bent her head in dismissal, and touched Ross upon the arm.
Did he shrink, or was that a thrill of pleasure that followed her touch? She would have given the world to know. Her hand grew bolder and laid itself on his arm. He yielded to its pressure, and moved away.
In a wing of the mansion was a conservatory full of flowering plants, and lighted with lamps that swung to and fro among the flowers, like mammoth pearls all on fire. Towards this place Mrs. Lambert led her companion.
CHAPTER XL.
OLD LOVERS.
They stood under the shade of a tall drooping tree, starred with soft, yellow blossoms, that rose out of a little jungle of tropical plants in one end of the conservatory. Around them was the soft glow of moonlight, literally shed from alabaster lamps.
From the distance came subdued bursts of music, and close by a fountain sent its diamond drops through the neighboring blossoms, and their bell-like tinkle sounded clear and silvery as they fell upon the tesselated marble of the floor.
Of all places on earth, this was the brightest for a meeting of lovers. But these two persons had grey hairs upon their temples, and a look of such unutterable pain in their faces that all this perfume, and the musical fall of water-drops, seemed but a mockery of something that had been.
“You wished to speak with me,” said Herman Ross in a low, sad voice. “I think we are alone here.”