She tried to screen her countenance, but he was in no mood for trifling, and putting his palm under her chin, forced her to submit to his scrutiny. "Salome, if I did not cherish a strong faith in the latent generosity of your soul, I would not come to you as I do now to offer confidence, and demand it in return." She guessed his meaning, and her eyes glowed with all the baleful light that he had hoped was extinguished forever. "Dr. Grey makes a grace of necessity, and a pretence of confiding that which has ceased to be a secret. Is such his boasted candor and honesty?" "If I believed that you were already acquainted with what I propose to divulge, I would not fritter away my time in appealing to a nobility of feeling which that fact alone would prove the hopelessness of my ever finding in you." He felt her face grow hot, and for an instant her eyes drooped before his, stern and almost threatening. "Well, sir; I wait for your confidential disclosures. Is there a Guy Fawkes, or Titus Oates, plotting against the peace and prosperity of the house of Grey?" "Verily I am disposed to apprehend that there may be." She endeavored to wrench her face from his hand, but he held it firmly, and continued,-- "I wish to say to you that Muriel is very sensitive, and I hope that during Mr. Granville's visit, you will try to be as considerate and courteous as possible, to both. Salome, Gerard Granville has asked Muriel to be his wife, and she has promised to marry him at the expiration of a year." The girl laughed derisively, and exclaimed,-- "Pray, Dr. Grey, be so good as to indulge me with your motive in furnishing this piece of information?" "Your astuteness forbids the possibility of any doubt with reference to my motives,--which are, explicitly, anxiety for Muriel's happiness, and for the preservation of your integrity and self-respect." "What jeopardizes either?" "Your heartless, contemptible vanity, which tempts you to demand a homage and incense that should be offered only where it is due,--at another, and I grieve to add, a purer shrine." "Ah! My unpardonable sin consists in having braided my black locks, and made myself comely! If you will procure an authentic portrait of the Witch of Endor, I will do proper penance by likening my appearance thereunto. Poor little rose! Can't you open your pink lips and cry _peccavi_? Come down, sole ally and accomplice of my heinous vanity, and plead for me, and make the _amende honorable_ to this grim guardian of Miss Muriel's peace!" She snatched the drooping rose from her hair, and tossed it at his feet. "Salome, you forget yourself!" His stern displeasure rendered her reckless, and she continued,--