“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.