“But, Mrs. Ross, surely that must be a mistake of yours.  No girl could have the impertinence to say such a false thing of Lord Arondelle,” exclaimed Salome, in disgust and abhorrence of the very idea presented.

“Indeed, then, my young lady, she ha’ the impertinence to say just that thing—­not in a whisper and in a corner, but loudly in the vera castle court, to whilk she cam yestreen, sae noisily that I was fain to threaten her wi’ the constable before I could get shet o’ her,” said the housekeeper nodding her head.

“What can the girl mean by it?  What excuse can she possibly have to justify such a mad charge?” inquired Salome, in a painful anxiety that she could neither conquer nor yet explain to herself.  She did not doubt the honor of her promised husband.  She would have died rather than doubt him.  Why, then, should this sudden anguish wring her heart.  “What excuse can she have, Mrs. Ross?” repeated Salome.

“Eh, me leddy, wha kens?  Boys will be boys.  And whiles the best o’ them will be wild where a bonny lassie is concerned.  No that’s I’m saying sic a thing anent our young laird.  But ye ken he used to be unco fond o’ the sport o’ deer stalking up by Ben Lone, where this handsome hizzie, Rose Cameron, bides wi’ her owld feyther.  And I e’en think the young laird, may whiles, hae putten a speak on the lass.  Nae mair nor less than just that,” said the housekeeper as she left the room to look after some important household work.

A few minutes after her exit, Sir Lemuel Levison entered.

Finding his daughter almost in tears, he naturally inquired: 

“What on earth is the matter with you, my child?”

“Nothing, papa!  At least nothing that should trouble me!”

“But what is it?”

“Well then, papa, dear, here has been a foolish girl—­very foolish, I think she must be, going about, intruding even into the Castle, and telling all that will listen to her, that she is betrothed to the Marquis of Arondelle.”

“Oh!  Just as I feared!” muttered the banker, in a tone that instantly riveted the attention of his daughter.

“What did you fear, my father?” she inquired, fixing her eyes upon his face.

The banker hesitated.

His daughter repeated her question: 

“What did you fear, my dear father?”

“Why, just what has happened, my love!” impatiently answered the banker.  “That this silly report would reach your ears and give you uneasiness.  It has reached you; but do not, I beseech you, let it trouble you!”

“There is no truth in it of course, papa?” said Salome, in a tone of entreaty.

“No, no, at least none that need concern you.  Lord bless my soul, girl, young men will be young men!  Arondelle is now about twenty-five years of age.  And he was not brought up in a convent, as you were.  He has lived for a quarter of a century in the world!  Surely, you do not expect that a young man should live as long as that without ever admiring a pretty face, and even telling its owner so, do you?”