Both ladies bowed with polite toleration; and Salome, her eyes gleaming very brightly, went to the piano and began to play. They were evidently astonished at her proficiency, for, more than once, Dr. Winthrop detected them in the interchange of significant glances. Still they awarded her no thanks, spoke no word of commendation when she ceased. Madame Winthrop made some general remark about the beauty of Mendelssohn’s “Songs without Words”—a selection from which Salome had rendered most exquisitely—and then changed the subject. The young wife began to feel as if her strength would not hold out much longer—as if the long evening would never end; but at ten o’clock madam signified her desire to retire, and Salome rang for Nellie to attend her—she had previously given orders that rooms should be prepared for their guests. Of course, in the presence of a servant there could only be a formal exchange of “good-nights,” and these being soon over, Madame and Miss Winthrop went upstairs together. As the door closed after them Dr. Winthrop turned and drew his young wife close to his heart. “Salome, this has been a trying ordeal for you,” he said tenderly, “but you have passed it nobly—I was very proud of my wife to-night.” “I am glad if I have pleased you, True,” she murmured wearily, and she was pale and drooping now, for all her false strength had deserted her; “but oh! I did hope that they would love me, for your sake,” and she hid her face upon his shoulder with a little sob of grief. “Patience, dear, have patience and all will come right in the end,” he returned soothingly, as he stroked her head with a tender hand. “You can readily see,” he continued, “that my mother is a very proud woman, and she is naturally somewhat piqued because her favorite son should have presumed to take so important a step as to marry during her absence, and without even consulting her upon the subject; so she cannot make up her mind to forgive me all at once.” How good he was to assume that his mother’s displeasure was directed entirely against him; but it did not deceive Salome, and she knew that she alone had come under the ban of her disapprobation. She would not say anything to wound him, however, and she resolved to do everything in her power to make friends with their guests, for his sake; she would bear everything, brave everything, rather than that he should suffer through her. But a sigh of deep regret escaped her, for she could not quite conceal the pain in her heart. “Poor little woman!” said her husband tenderly, “you are tired out, and no wonder. So say good-night here, and go to bed at once, for I have a letter to write before I sleep.” He raised her face and kissed her fondly; then, opening the door for her, watched her as she went slowly upstairs, a proud gleam in his eyes.