"Then you are a very thankless child, my little Salome, for you are very far from happy," said her father, gravely shaking his head, yet looking so tenderly upon her as to take all rebuke from his words.
Salome dropped her eyes under his searching, loving gaze.
"My child, I know that I have the power to bless you, if you will only tell me how. Tell me, my dear," persisted her father.
But still she dropped her eyes and hung her head.
"If your mother were here, you could confide in her. You cannot confide in your father, my poor, motherless girl, and he cannot blame you," said Sir Lemuel, sadly.
"Father, dear father, I do love you; and I will confide in you," said Salome, earnestly.
For just then a mighty power of faith and love arose in her soul, casting out fear, casting out doubt, subduing pride and reserve.
"What is it, then, my love? Have you formed any attachment of which you have hesitated to tell me? Hesitate no longer, my dearest Salome. Tell me all about it. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Love is natural. Love is holy. Oh, it is your mother that should be telling you all this, my poor girl, not your awkward, blundering old father," suddenly said the banker, breaking off in his discourse as his daughter hid her crimson face upon his shoulder.
"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.