“Salome,” said her husband gravely, “please never speak to me of any feeling of obligation—more than that, do not entertain any such feeling. When I put that ring upon your finger did I not endow you with all that I possess? What is mine is also thine, dear, and there is enough to gratify every reasonable wish, and to spare. You will best please me, Salome, by providing yourself with everything that a lady in your position needs.” When they reached home he drew her into the library, where he gave her a cheque book. “When you need money, Salome, you need not ask me for it—I think that must be exceedingly galling to a woman; but just fill out one of these cheques and get what you wish. I have signed a number of them, so all you need to do will be to present them at the bank. But,” he added, “as you cannot do that until you go out again, let me give you something to begin upon; you must not be without money,” and as he spoke he slipped into her hand a crisp bill of no mean denomination. “What shall I say to you?” she gasped, her breath fairly taken away by such munificence. “Nothing, dear; but”—lifting her arm and drawing it about his neck—“if you can think of anything that I would like you may give it to me,” and he bent his lips to hers. She kissed him twice—softly, lingeringly, gratefully. “Do you love me, Salome?” he asked, just to hear what her answer would be. “You know that I do, with my whole soul, my husband,” she breathed. “Oh, I am afraid that I am too happy.” He laughed softly. Then he said: “Now, I have something else to tell you. There is a pair of pretty bay ponies and a coupé out in the stable, and they are for the use of Mrs. Winthrop exclusively. You are to drive every fine day, Salome—you know I cannot always go with you—and order them whenever you wish. There! I shall have to go, for I hear that arbitrary bell again. Put on one of your new gowns for dinner, dear; I want to see if I have shown good taste in my selections,” and with a last fond embrace he left her. CHAPTER VIII. DR. WINTHROP IS SUMMARILY ARRAIGNED. That same evening, just as Dr. Winthrop and his wife were ready to sit down to their dinner, they were startled by a pealing, imperative ring of the hall bell. A moment later the door was thrown open, there was the sound of a little commotion, and Dr. Winthrop knew—even before the servant appeared at the dining-room door, and announced “Madame Winthrop, Miss Winthrop”—that his mother and sister had arrived. He immediately went out to greet them, followed by Salome, who longed to give them a cordial and loving welcome, although her heart had sunk heavily as they were announced, for she was in doubt as to how they would receive her. “Why, mother!—Evelyn!” Dr. Winthrop exclaimed, as he affectionately saluted them; “this is a great surprise; we did not look for you until to-morrow.”