But though the banker’s daughter received two or three more eligible offers of marriage, she politely declined them all, and stole away as often as she could to worship the pictured image in the old tower.

Her chaperone was in despair.

“How many good men and brave has she refused, do you know, Lemuel?” inquired Lady Belgrade.

“Seven, to my certain knowledge,” angrily replied the banker.

“Perhaps she likes some one you know nothing about,” suggested the dowager.

“She does not; I would let her marry almost any man rather than have her enter a convent, as she is sure to do when she is of age.  I would let her marry any one; aye, even Johnnie Scott, who is the most worthless scamp I know in the world.”

“And pray who is Johnnie Scott!”

“Oh, a handsome rascal; is sort of kinsman and hanger-on of the young Marquis of Arondelle; he used to be.  I don’t know anything more about him.”

“Perhaps he is the man.”

“Oh, no, he is not.  There is no man in the convent.  Well, we go up to London again in February.  It will be her last season.  If she does not fall in love or marry before May, when she will be twenty-one years of age, she will immure herself in a convent, as I am pledged not to prevent her.”

The conversation ended unsatisfactorily just here.

In the beginning of February Sir Lemuel Levison, with his daughter and her chaperone, went up to London for her third season.  They established themselves again in the sumptuous house on Westbourne Terrace, and again entered into the whirl of fashionable gayeties.

It was quite in the beginning of the season that Sir Lemuel and Miss Levison received invitations to a dinner party at the Premier’s.

It was to be a semi-political dinner, at which were to be entertained certain ministers, members of Parliament, with their wives, and leading journalists.

Sir Lemuel accepted for himself and Miss Levison.  On the appointed day they rendered themselves at the Premier’s house, where they were courteously welcomed by the great minister and his accomplished wife.

After the usual greetings had been exchanged with the guests that were present, and while Sir Lemuel and Miss Levison were conversing with their hostess, the Premier came up with a stranger on his right arm.

Salome looked up, her heart gave a great bound and then stood still.

The original of the portrait in the tower, the self-devoted son, the self-exiled heir, the idol of her pure worship, the young Marquis of Arondelle stood before her.

And while the scene swam before her eyes, the Premier bowed, and presenting him, said: 

“Sir Lemuel, let me introduce to you, Mr. John Scott of the National Liberator.  Mr. Scott, Sir Lemuel Levison, our new member for Lone.”

Mr. John Scott!

CHAPTER III.