“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.