The season drew to its close.  Constant going out, day after day, and night after night, would have weakened much stronger health than that possessed by Salome Levison.  And, when added to this was constant longing expectation, and constant sickening disappointment, we cannot wonder that our pale heroine grew paler still.

Her chaperone declared herself “worn out” and unable to continue her arduous duties much longer.

Sir Lemuel Levison was puzzled and anxious.

“I cannot see what has come to my girl!  She goes out all the time; she accepts every invitation; gives herself no rest; yet never seems to enjoy herself anywhere.  She grows paler and thinner every day, and there is a hectic spot on her cheeks and a feverish brightness in her eyes that I do not like at all.  I have seen them before, and I have too much reason to know them!  I do believe she is fretting herself into a decline for her convent.  I do believe she only goes out as a sort of penance for her imaginary sins!  Poor child!  I must really have a talk and come to an understanding with her!” said the anxious father to himself, as he mused on the condition of his daughter.

CHAPTER IV.

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.