SALOME'S CHOICE.
Sir Lemuel Levison was taking his breakfast in bed. The London season was
near its close. Parliament sat late at night, and often all night. Sir
Lemuel, a punctual and diligent member of the House, seldom returned home
before the early dawn.
So Sir Lemuel was taking his breakfast in bed, and "small blame to him."
It was a very simple breakfast of black tea, dry toast, fresh eggs, and
cold ham.
"Take these things away now, Potts. Go and find Miss Levison's maid, and
tell her to let her mistress know that I wish to see my daughter here,
before she goes out," said the banker, as he drained and set down his
tea-cup.
"Yes, Sir Lemuel," respectfully answered the servant, as he lifted the
breakfast tray and bore it off.
"Umph! that is the manner in which I have to manoeuvre for an interview
with my own daughter, before I can get one," grumbled the banker, as he
lay back on his pillow and took up a newspaper from the counter-pane.
Before he had time to read the morning's report of the night's doings at
the House, Salome entered the room.
The banker darted a swift keen look at her, that took in her whole aspect
at a glance.
She was dressed for a drive. She wore a simple suit of rich brown silk,
with hat, vail and gloves to match, white linen collar and cuffs, and
crimson ribbon bow on her bosom, and a crimson rose in her hat. Her face
was pale and clear, but so thin that her broad, fair forehead looked too
broad beneath its soft waves of dark hair, and her deep gray eyes seemed
too large and bright under their arched black eyebrows.
"You wished to see me, dear papa?" she said, gently.
"Yes, my love. But--you are going out? Of course you are. You are always
going out, when you are not gone. I hope, however, that I have not
interfered with any very important engagement of yours, my dear?" said
the banker, half impatiently, half affectionately.
"Oh, no, papa, love! I was only going with Lady Belgrade to a flower-show
at the Crystal Palace. I will give it up very willingly if you wish me to
do so," said Salome, gently, stooping and pressing her lips to his, and
then seating herself on the side of his bed.
"I do not wish you to do so, my child. I shall be going out myself in
a couple of hours. But I want to have a little conversation with you.
I suppose a few minutes more or less will make no difference in your
enjoyment of the flower-show."
"None whatever, papa, dear."
"Humph! Salome, now that I look at you well, I do not believe you care
a penny for the flower-show. Come, tell me the truth, girl. Do you care
one penny to go to the flower-show?" he inquired, looking keenly into her
pensive face.
"No, papa, dear," she answered, in a very low tone.
"Humph! I thought not. Now do you care for _any_ of the shows,
plays, balls, and other tom-fooleries that occupy you day and night?
I pause for a reply, my daughter."
"No, papa, I do not," she answered, in a still lower tone.
"Then why the deuce do you go to them?" demanded the banker.
His daughter's soft, gray eyes sank beneath his scrutinizing gaze, but
she did not answer. How _could_ she confess that she went out into
company daily and nightly only in the hope of seeing again the one man
to whom she had given her unsought heart, and for whose presence her very
soul seemed famishing.
"What is it that you _do_ care for, then, Salome?" demanded her
father, varying his question.
Her head sank upon her bosom, but still she did not answer. How could she
tell him that she cared only for a man who did not care for her.
"This is unbearable!" burst forth the banker. "Here you are with every
indulgence that affection can yield you, every luxury that money can give
you, and yet you are not well nor content. What ails you girl? Are you
pining after your convent? Set fire to it. Are you pining after your
convent, I ask you, Salome?"
"Indeed, _no_, papa!"
"What!" demanded her father, starting up at her reply and gazing with
doubt into her pale, earnest face.
"I am not thinking of the convent, dear papa. Indeed I had forgotten all
about it. If it will give you any pleasure to hear it, dear papa, let me
tell you that I have quite given up all ideas of entering a convent,"
added Salome, with a pensive smile.
"What!" exclaimed the banker, starting up in a sitting position and
bending toward his daughter as if in doubt whether to gaze her through
and through or to catch her to his heart.
She met that look and understood her father's love for his only child,
and reproached herself for having been so blind to it for these three
years past.
"Dearest papa," she said, with tender earnestness, "I have no longer the
slightest wish or intention of ever entering a convent. And I wonder now
how I ever could have been so insane as to think I could live all my life
contentedly in a convent, or so selfish as to forget that by doing so I
should leave my father alone in the world!"
"My darling child! Is this truly so? Are these really your thoughts?"
exclaimed the banker, with such a look of delight as Salome had not
believed possible in so aged a face.
"Really and truly, my father! And does it give you so much pleasure?"
"Pleasure my daughter! It gives me the greatest joy! Hand me my
dressing-gown, my dear. I must get up. I cannot lie here any longer.
You have put new life into me!"
Salome handed him his gown, socks, and slippers, and then went to clear
off his big easy-chair, which was burdened with his yesterday's dress
suit, and draw it up for his use.
And in a few minutes the banker, wrapped in his gown, with his feet in
his slippers, was seated comfortably in his arm-chair.
"Now, shall I ring for Potts, papa, dear?" inquired Salome.
"No, my love, I don't want Potts, I want you. Sit down near me, Salome,
and listen to me. You have made me very happy this morning, my darling;
and now I wish to make you happy; you are not so now; but I am your
father; you are my only child; all that I have will be yours; but in the
meantime, you are not happy. What can I do, my beloved child, to make
you so?" said the banker, drawing her to his side and kissing her
tenderly, and then releasing her.
"Papa, dear, I should be a most ungrateful daughter if I were not happy,"
answered the girl.
"Then you _are_ a very thankless child, my little Salome, for you
are very far from happy," said her father, gravely shaking his head, yet
looking so tenderly upon her as to take all rebuke from his words.
Salome dropped her eyes under his searching, loving gaze.
"My child, I know that I have the power to bless you, if you will only
tell me how. Tell me, my dear," persisted her father.
But still she dropped her eyes and hung her head.
"If your mother were here, you could confide in her. You cannot confide
in your father, my poor, motherless girl, and he cannot blame you," said
Sir Lemuel, sadly.
"Father, dear father, I _do_ love you; and I will confide in you,"
said Salome, earnestly.
For just then a mighty power of faith and love arose in her soul, casting
out fear, casting out doubt, subduing pride and reserve.
"What is it, then, my love? Have you formed any attachment of which you
have hesitated to tell me? Hesitate no longer, my dearest Salome. Tell me
all about it. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Love is natural. Love is
holy. Oh, it is your mother that should be telling you all this, my poor
girl, not your awkward, blundering old father," suddenly said the banker,
breaking off in his discourse as his daughter hid her crimson face upon
his shoulder.
"My dear, gentle father, no mother could be tenderer than you," murmured
Salome.
"Tell me all, then, my darling. It is the first wish of my heart to see
you happily married. And no trifling obstacle shall stand in the way of
its accomplishment. _Who is he, Salome?_" he inquired, in a low
whisper, as he passed his hand around her neck.
She did not answer, but she kissed and fondled his hand.
"You cannot bring yourself to tell me yet? Well, take your own time, my
love. You will tell me some time or another," he continued, returning her
soft caresses.
"Yes, I will tell you sometime, dear, good, tender father. But now--when
do we leave town papa?"
"In less than three weeks, my dear."
"And where do we go?"
"To Lone Castle, if you like; if not, anywhere you prefer, my dear."
"Then we _will_ go to Lone, if you please, papa."
"Certainly, my dear."
"Papa?"
"Yes, love."
"Will you do something for me before we leave town?"
"I will do anything on earth that you wish me to do for you, my dear,"
said the banker, looking anxiously toward her.
She hesitated for a few moments, and then said:
"Papa, I want you to give just such a semi-political dinner party as that
given by the Premier in the beginning of the season."
"What! my little, pale Salome taking an interest in politics!" exclaimed
the banker, in droll surprise.
"Yes, papa; and turning politician on a small, womanish scale. You will
give this semi-political dinner?"
"Why of course I will! Whom shall we invite?"
"Papa, the very same party to a man, whom we met at the Premier's
dinner."
"Let me see. Who was there? Oh! there were three members of Parliament
and their wives; two city magnates and their daughters; you and myself,
Lady Belgrade, and--and the Marquis of--John--Mr. John Scott, I mean."
"Yes, papa, that was the company. Send the invitations out to-day, for
this day week please--if no engagement intervenes to prevent you."
"Very well, my dear. You see to it. I leave it all in your hands. Now you
may ring for Potts, my dear. I have to dress and go down to the House. I
am chairman of a committee there, that meets at two. And you, my love,
must be off to your flower-show. You must not keep Lady Belgrade
waiting."
Salome touched the bell, and on the entrance of the valet, she kissed her
father's hand and retired.
"Now I wonder," mused the old gentleman, "who it is she wants to meet
again, out of that dinner company? It cannot be either of the old M.P.'s
or their wives; nor the two elderly city magnates, or their tall
daughters; that disposes of ten out of the fourteen invited guests.
The remainder included Lady Belgrade, myself, Salome herself, and--Lord,
bless my soul, alive!" burst forth the banker, with such a start, that
his valet, who was brushing his hair, begged his pardon, and said that he
did not mean it.
"Lord, bless my soul alive," mentally continued the banker, without
paying the slightest attention to the apologizing servant. "The Marquis
of Arondelle! He was the fourteenth guest, and the only young man
present! And upon my word and honor, the very handsomest and most
attractive young fellow I ever saw in all the days of my life! Come!" he
added to himself, as the full revelation of the truth burst upon his
mind; "_that_ can be easily enough arranged. If he is the sensible,
practical man I take him to be, he will get back his estates and the very
best little wife that ever was wed into the bargain; and my girl will be
a marchioness, and in time a duchess. But stay--what is that I heard up
at Lone about the young marquis and a handsome shepherdess? Chut! what is
that to us? That is probably a slander. The marquis is a noble young
fellow; and I will bring him home with me this evening. I will not wait
a week until that dinner comes off. We cannot afford to lose so much time
at the end of the season," mused the banker, through all the time his
valet was dressing him.
And now we must glance back to that evening when John Scott, Marquis of
Arondelle, first met Salome Levison. He had met many statuesque, pink and
white beauties in his young life; and he had admired each and all with
all a young man's ardor. But not one of them had touched his heart, as
did the first full gaze of those large, soft gray eyes that were lifted
to his and immediately dropped as the old banker had presented him to--
"My daughter, Miss Levison."
She was not statuesque. She was not pink and white. She was not at all
handsome, or even pretty; yet something in the pale, sweet, earnest face,
something in the soft clear gray eyes touched his heart even before he
was presented to her. But when she lifted those eloquent eyes to his
face, there was such a world of sympathy, appreciation and devotion in
their swift and swiftly-withdrawn gaze, that her soul seemed then and
there to reveal itself to his soul.
He never again met the full gaze of those spirit eyes. He never exchanged
a word with her after the first few formal words of greeting. He had only
bowed to her, in taking leave that evening.
Yet those eyes had haunted him in their meek appealing tenderness ever
since. He did not meet her anywhere by accident, and he did not try to
meet her by design. He only thought of her constantly. But what had he to
do with the banker's wealthy heiress, the future mistress of Lone? If he
were so unwise as to seek her acquaintance, the world would be quick to
ascribe the most mercenary motives to his conduct. But like weaker minded
lovers, he comforted himself by writing such transcendental poetry as
"The Soul's Recognition," "The Meeting of the Spirits," "What Those Eyes
Said," etc. He did not publish these. After having relieved his mind of
them, he put them away to keep in his portfolio. So you see the handsome,
"princely" Hereward was as much in love with our pale, gray-eyed girl as
She could possibly be with him.
And so with the young marquis also the season passed slowly and heavily
away, until the day came when into his den at the office of the
_Liberator_ walked Sir Lemuel Levison.
His heart really beat faster, although it was only her father who
entered.
He arose, and placed a chair for his visitor.
"Lord Arondelle, you _know_ I knew you when I met you at Lord P.'s
dinner-party, and I saw that you knew me. It was not my business to
interfere with your incognito, and so I met you as you met me--as a
stranger. But surely here and now we may meet as friends without
disguise," said the banker, as he slowly sank into his seat.
"We must do so, Sir Lemuel, since we are _tete-a-tete_. It would
be idle and useless to do otherwise," replied the young marquis,
courteously.
"And now, my young friend, you are wondering what has brought me here,"
continued the banker.
"I am at least most grateful to any circumstance that gives me the
pleasure of your company, Sir Lemuel," courteously replied the young
marquis.
"Well, my lord, I come to beg you to waive ceremony, and go home with me
to dinner this evening. I hope you have no engagement to prevent you from
coming," added Sir Lemuel, with more earnestness than the occasion seemed
to call for.
"I have no engagement to prevent me," answered the young man frankly, but
slowly and thoughtfully, for he was wondering not only at the invitation
but at the suddenness and earnestness with which it was given.
"Then I _hope_ you will come?" said the banker.
"You are very kind, Sir Lemuel. Yes, thanks, I will come," said the
marquis.
"So happy! Will you allow me to call for you--at--at your lodgings?"
"Thanks, Sir Lemuel, if you will kindly call _here_ at your own
hour, it will be more directly in your way home, and you will find me
ready to accompany you."
"Quite right. I will be here at seven. Good morning."
And with this the banker went away.
"He wants me to make an article about something, I suppose," mused the
young man when the elder had gone. "I will go. I will see that sweet girl
again, even if I never see her afterwards."
The temptation was certainly very strong. And so, at the appointed hour,
when the banker called at the office of the _National Liberator_ he
found the young gentleman in evening dress ready to accompany him home.
Salome Levison was dressed for dinner, and seated in the drawing-room
with her chaperone, Lady Belgrade.
Salome was certainly not expecting any guest. But she intended to go to
the opera that evening with Lady Belgrade, to hear the last act of Norma.
Luckily for Sir Lemuel's plan, it was not a peremptory engagement, and
could easily be set aside.
On this evening she was beautifully dressed. She wore a delicate tea-rose
tinted rich silk skirt, with an over skirt of point lace, looped up with
tea-rose buds, a tea-rose in her dark hair, a necklace of opals set in
diamonds, and bracelets of the same beautiful jewels. Refined, elegant,
and most interesting she certainly looked.
Meanwhile, the banker came home, and himself conducted the unexpected
guest to the drawing-room.
"Mr. John Scott, my dear," said Sir Lemuel, bringing the young gentleman
up to his daughter.
The young marquis caught the sudden lighting up of those soft, gray eyes,
and the sudden flushing of those delicate cheeks.
It was but for an instant; for even as he bowed before her, her eyes fell
and her color faded.
It was but for an instant, yet in that glance those eyes had again
revealed her soul to his.
The young marquis was not a vain man. He could not at once believe the
evidence of his own consciousness. But he found it rather more awkward to
sit down and open a conversation with this pale, shy girl, than he ever
had in his palmiest days to make himself agreeable to the brightest
beauty that ever honored Castle Lone with a visit.
For once the presence of a chaperone was not unwelcome to a pair of young
people secretly in love with each other.
Lady Belgrade chattered of the weather, the opera the park, and what not,
and relieved the embarrassment of the lovers during the interval in which
Sir Lemuel Levison had gone to change his dress.
The young marquis seldom spoke to Salome, but when he did, his voice sank
to a low, tender, reverential tone that thrilled her inmost spirit. She
replied to him only in soft monosyllables, but her drooping eyelids, and
kindling cheeks, told him all he wished to know. He might have wondered
more at the interest he had seemed to excite in a girl he had met but
once before, had he not had a corresponding experience himself. He knew
that he himself had been deeply impressed by this sweet, shy, pale girl,
on the first meeting of her soft gray eyes, with their soul of love
shining through them.
He did not know that this "soul of love" had first been awakened in her,
by hearing his story and seeing his portrait, and that it was which so
powerfully attracted him--for love creates love.
Sir Lemuel Levison hurried over his toilet, and soon entered the
drawing-room.
Dinner was immediately announced.
"Mr. Scott, will you take my daughter to the table?" said the banker, as
he gave his own arm to Lady Belgrade.
It was an elegant little dinner for four, arranged upon a round table.
There was no possibility of estrangement, in so small a party as that.
Sir Lemuel talked gayly, and without effort, for he was very happy. Lady
Belgrade chattered, because she was spiritually a magpie. And as both
constantly appealed to "Mr. Scott," or to Salome, it was impossible for
either of the lovers to relapse into awkward silence. The conversation
was general and lively.
Sir Lemuel Levison and Lady Belgrade would have talked in the most
flattering manner of "Mr. Scott's" leaders, if that young gentleman had
not laughingly waived off all such direct compliments.
When dinner was over, Lady Belgrade gave the signal, and arose from the
table. Salome followed her, and left the two gentlemen to their wine.
"It afflicts me to have to call you Mr. Scott, my lord," said Sir Lemuel,
when he found himself alone with his guest.
"Then call me John, as you used to do when I rode upon your foot in my
childhood, and when I used to come to you in all my worst scrapes in
boyhood--I shall never resume my title, Sir Lemuel," replied the young
man.
"Never!" exclaimed the banker.
"Never, Sir Lemuel. A pauper lord is rather a ridiculous object. I will
never be one."
"You _could_ not be one. I won't hear you say such things about
yourself. See here, John. Do you know why I bought Lone when I knew it
was to be sold?"
"I suppose because you wanted it."
"Now what did I want with Lone? I, an old widower, without family, except
one little girl at school? I did not want Lone. I wanted you to have it.
But I knew that if I did not buy it some one else would. And--I had this
only daughter, who would have Lone after me. And I thought perhaps--But
then you disappeared, you know, and no one on earth could tell for three
years what had become of you, when you suddenly turned up as Mr. John
Scott at the Premier's dinner."
The banker paused, and ran his hand through his gray hair.
The young man looked at him with curiosity and interest.
"Plague take it all! her mother, if she has one, could manage this matter
so much better than I can," muttered the banker, as he poured out a glass
of wine and drank it. "Well, Lord Arondelle--I will give myself the
pleasure of calling you so while we are _tete-a-tete_ 'over the
walnuts and wine.' Lord Arondelle, there is my daughter; what do you
think of her?" he demanded, bending down his gray brows and fixing his
keen blue eyes scrutinizingly upon the young man's face which flushed at
the suddenness of the question. But he quickly recovered himself, and
replied in a low, reverent tone:
"I think Miss Levison the loveliest young creature I have ever had the
happiness to know."
"You do! So do _I_! I think so too. And the man who gets my girl to
wife will get a pearl of price."
"I truly believe that," said the young man, with an involuntary sigh.
"That is right! Ahem! Bother it! a woman could do this so much better
than such a blundering old fellow as I! Well, there! Salome has, in the
three years since her first entrance into society, refused half a score
of eligible men. She is, and always has been, perfectly free from any
such engagement. If you are equally free, my dear marquis--(If I could
only be her mother for three seconds)--Ahem! if you are equally free,
and if you admire my girl as you say you do, and if you can win her
affections--she--she shall be yours, and I will settle Lone upon her.
There, her mother would have done this better, I know. So much better
that you would have proposed to my daughter without ever dreaming that
the suggestion came from our side. But as for me, I have flung my girl
at your head, nothing less!" grumbled the banker.
"My dear Sir Lemuel," said the young man, with some emotion, as he left
his seat and came and stood by the banker's chair, leaning affectionately
over him; "when I first met your lovely daughter, I was so deeply
impressed by her rare sweetness, gentleness, intelligence--ah! Heaven
knows what it was! It was something more than all these. In a word, I was
so deeply impressed by her perfect loveliness, that had I been as really
the heir of Lone as I was the Marquis of Arondelle, I should at once have
cultivated her further acquaintance, and, before this, have laid my heart
and hand, titles and estates, at her feet."
"Well, well, my boy? Well, my dear lad, why didn't you do it?" inquired
the banker, with tears rising to his kind eyes.
"I have just told you, because I was a ruined man," said the marquis with
mournful dignity.
"'A ruined man?'" echoed the banker, with almost angry earnestness.
"_I_ know that you are _not_ a ruined man! And you know, even
better than I do, because you have more brains than I have; YOU
know that no young man, sound in body and sound in mind, can be ruined
by any financial calamity that can fall upon him. You love my daughter,
you say. Well, then, you have my authority to ask her to be your wife.
There, what do you say?"
The young marquis sat down and covered his face with his hand for one
thoughtful moment, and then replied:
"This is a happiness so unexpected that it seems unreal. Sir Lemuel, do
you really appreciate the fact that I am a man without a shilling that
I do not earn by my labor?"
"I really appreciate the fact, and most highly appreciate the fact that
you are Marquis of Arondelle, and to be Duke of Hereward--and that you
are personally as noble in nature as you are fortunately noble in
descent. And although my first motive in favoring this marriage is the
pure desire for yours and for my daughter's happiness, still I assure
you, my lord, I am keenly alive to its eligibility in a mere worldly
point of view. Your ancient historical title is, (to speak as a man of
the world,) much more than an equivalent for my daughter's expectations.
But it is not, as I said before, as a highly eligible, conventional
marriage that I most desire it, but as a marriage that I feel sure will
secure the happiness of yourself and my daughter, whom I shall,
nevertheless, be very proud to see, some day, Duchess of Hereward.
Come, now, I never saw a gallant young man hesitate so long. I shall grow
angry presently."
"Sir Lemuel," said the marquis, with some irrepressible emotion, "were
I now really the Duke of Hereward, and the owner of Lone, and were your
lovely daughter as dowerless as I am penniless at this moment, and did
you give her to me, my deepest gratitude would be due you, and you have
it now. When may I see Miss Levison and put my fate to the test?"
"That's right. Upon my word, my boy, if I were a galvanic foreigner
instead of a staid Englishman, I should jump up and embrace you. Consider
yourself embraced. When shall you see her? We will go into the dining
room now and get a cup of tea from the ladies; after which, you shall see
her as soon and as often as you please. And after you win her, as I am
sure you will, we will have a blithe wedding and you and your bride will
do the Continent for a wedding-tour, and then come back and spend the
Autumn at Lone. We two old papas, the duke and myself, will join you
there, and everything will be quite as it used to be in the old days."
"Ah! my poor father!" sighed the young man.
"What of the duke, my dear boy? You told me he was well," said the
banker, anxiously.
"Yes, he is well in body, better in body than he has been for years; but
I think that is only because his mind is failing."
"I am very sorry to hear that! In what respect does this failure show
itself--in loss of memory?"
"In partial loss of memory; but chiefly in a hallucination that possesses
him. He thinks that he is still the master of Lone as well as the Duke
of Hereward. He thinks that he lives in London, and in the most
Objectionable part of London, only to gratify my 'eccentric whim' of
being a journalist. And he daily and hourly urges me to return with him
to Lone!"
"In the name of Heaven, then gratify him! Take him to Lone as my guest,
until you can keep him there as your own. Let him be happy in the
illusion that he is still its master. I will see that the servants there,
who are most of them his own old people, do not say or do anything to
dispel the illusion! Come, my son-in-law, that is to be, will you take
your father at once to Lone?"
For all answer the young marquis grasped and wrung the hand of his old
friend.
"But will you do it?" persisted the banker, who wanted to be satisfied on
that point.
"I will think of it. I will think most gratefully of your kind
invitation, Sir Lemuel. And now shall we join the ladies?"
"Certainly," said the banker.
They went into the drawing-room.
Lady Belgrade was presiding over the tea urn.
Salome, who was seated near her, looked up and saw him. Again the marquis
noted the sudden, beautiful lighting up of those soft, gray eyes, as they
were lifted for a moment to his face. Again they fell beneath his glance,
as her pale cheeks flushed up. He could not be mistaken. This sweet girl
whom he loved, loved him in return.
"I was just about to send for you. You lingered long at table, Sir
Lemuel," said Lady Belgrade, as the two gentlemen bowed and seated
themselves.
"Oh, important political and journalistic matters to discuss," said Sir
Lemuel. ("Only they were _not_ discussed,") he added, mentally.
"So I supposed," said Lady Belgrade, as she handed him a cup of tea,
which he immediately passed to his guest.
After tea, when the service was removed, Sir Lemuel challenged Lady
Belgrade for a game of chess, and told his daughter to show Mr. Scott
those chromoes of the Madonnas of Raphael which had arrived in the last
parcel from Paris.
Salome flushed to the edges of her dark hair as she arose, glanced
shyly at her guest for an instant, and walked to the other end of the
drawing-room.
There, on a gilded stand, under a brilliant gasolier, lay a large and
handsome volume, which Salome indicated as the one referred to by her
father.
The marquis brought two chairs to the stand, and they sat down to go over
the book.
Meanwhile, the banker and the dowager commenced their game of chess. But
from time to time, each looked furtively in the direction of the young
people. _They_ were looking at the Madonnas of Raphael, and, once
in a while, shyly into each other's eyes. All that Sir Lemuel saw there
pleased him. All that Lady Belgrade saw there _dis_pleased her.
At length she put her hand over that of her antagonist, and stopped his
move while she said:
"Sir Lemuel, a conflagration may be arrested by stamping out a spark of
fire."
"Whatever do you mean, my lady!" inquired the perplexed banker.
"An inundation may be prevented by stopping up a small leak."
"I am more mystified than ever!"
"Look at Salome and Mr. Scott, then," said her ladyship, solemnly.
"Well, what of them? They seem to be very happy and very well pleased
with each other."
"Ah! that is it, and worse may come of it."
"What worse can come of it?"
"Sir Lemuel, this Mr. Scott, you must remember, is nothing but an
adventurer, who only gains an entrance into respectable circles on
account of his journalistic reputation. He is probably also a pauper,
but being a very handsome and attractive man, he is certainly a very
dangerous, and likely to be a very successful fortune-hunter."
"You mean he may try to marry my heiress?"
"Yes, Sir Lemuel."
"He has my full consent to do so."
"Sir Lemuel!"
"Listen, my good lady, I have a secret to tell you. That gentleman whom
we have known as Mr. John Scott only, is really Archibald-Alexander-John
Scott, Marquis of Hereward."
A woman of the world is hardly ever "taken aback." Lady Belgrade gave no
exclamation. But she caught her breath and stared at the speaker.
"It is as I have told you. He is the Marquis of Arondelle. He is going to
marry my daughter. He will get back Lone through her. And she will be
Marchioness of Arondelle, and in due time Duchess of Hereward."
"You--don't--say--so!" breathed her ladyship, slowly.
"And now, you know how to manage it. You must aid the young couple as
much as you can by giving them as much as possible of each other's
society."
"Yes, I see," said her ladyship. "And now--don't look toward them again."
The banker nodded intelligently. And they gave their attention to the
game.
And the two young people seemed to find inexhaustible interest in the
volume they were bending over.
It was eleven o'clock before the young marquis arose to take leave.
"I have asked Miss Levison to ride with me in the Park to-morrow, and she
has kindly consented--with your approbation, Sir Lemuel," said the young
man.
"Certainly, Mr. Scott. I consider horseback riding one of the most
healthful of exercises," said the banker, heartily.
The young marquis then bowed and took his leave.
Lady Belgrade gathered up her embroidery work and bade them good-night.
"My girl, what do you think of Mr. Scott?" asked the banker, when he was
left alone with his daughter.
"Oh, papa," she breathed in an embarrassed manner.
"Do you know who he really is, my dear?"
"Yes, papa, I knew him when I first met him at the Premier's dinner.
I knew him by his portrait that I saw at Castle Lone!"
"Oh, you did!" said the banker, musing.
His daughter looked at him for a moment, and then suddenly threw herself
into his arms, clasped his neck and kissed him fervently, exclaiming,
with her face radiant with delight:
"Oh, papa! this is all your doing! I understand it all, dear papa! Bless
you! bless you! bless you, my own, own dear papa! You have made your
child so happy!"