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.
When dinner was over, Lady Belgrade gave the signal, and arose from the table. Salome followed her, and left the two gentlemen to their wine.
"It afflicts me to have to call you Mr. Scott, my lord," said Sir Lemuel, when he found himself alone with his guest.
"Then call me John, as you used to do when I rode upon your foot in my childhood, and when I used to come to you in all my worst scrapes in boyhood—I shall never resume my title, Sir Lemuel," replied the young man.
"Never!" exclaimed the banker.
"Never, Sir Lemuel. A pauper lord is rather a ridiculous object. I will never be one."