After tea, when the service was removed, Sir Lemuel challenged Lady Belgrade for a game of chess, and told his daughter to show Mr. Scott those chromoes of the Madonnas of Raphael which had arrived in the last parcel from Paris.

Salome flushed to the edges of her dark hair as she arose, glanced shyly at her guest for an instant, and walked to the other end of the drawing-room.

There, on a gilded stand, under a brilliant gasolier, lay a large and handsome volume, which Salome indicated as the one referred to by her father.

The marquis brought two chairs to the stand, and they sat down to go over the book.

Meanwhile, the banker and the dowager commenced their game of chess.  But from time to time, each looked furtively in the direction of the young people. They were looking at the Madonnas of Raphael, and, once in a while, shyly into each other’s eyes.  All that Sir Lemuel saw there pleased him.  All that Lady Belgrade saw there displeased her.

At length she put her hand over that of her antagonist, and stopped his move while she said: 

“Sir Lemuel, a conflagration may be arrested by stamping out a spark of fire.”

“Whatever do you mean, my lady!” inquired the perplexed banker.

“An inundation may be prevented by stopping up a small leak.”

“I am more mystified than ever!”

“Look at Salome and Mr. Scott, then,” said her ladyship, solemnly.

“Well, what of them?  They seem to be very happy and very well pleased with each other.”

“Ah! that is it, and worse may come of it.”

“What worse can come of it?”

“Sir Lemuel, this Mr. Scott, you must remember, is nothing but an adventurer, who only gains an entrance into respectable circles on account of his journalistic reputation.  He is probably also a pauper, but being a very handsome and attractive man, he is certainly a very dangerous, and likely to be a very successful fortune-hunter.”

“You mean he may try to marry my heiress?”

“Yes, Sir Lemuel.”

“He has my full consent to do so.”

“Sir Lemuel!”

“Listen, my good lady, I have a secret to tell you.  That gentleman whom we have known as Mr. John Scott only, is really Archibald-Alexander-John Scott, Marquis of Hereward.”

A woman of the world is hardly ever “taken aback.”  Lady Belgrade gave no exclamation.  But she caught her breath and stared at the speaker.

“It is as I have told you.  He is the Marquis of Arondelle.  He is going to marry my daughter.  He will get back Lone through her.  And she will be Marchioness of Arondelle, and in due time Duchess of Hereward.”

“You—­don’t—­say—­so!” breathed her ladyship, slowly.

“And now, you know how to manage it.  You must aid the young couple as much as you can by giving them as much as possible of each other’s society.”

“Yes, I see,” said her ladyship.  “And now—­don’t look toward them again.”