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.