For she was his only daughter, and he wished to get her in love with the world and out of conceit of a convent.

And surely the run of his bank, and of all the fine shops of London, would do that, he thought, if anything could.
But Salome remained a "sealed book" to the wealthy banker, and a great trial to the fashionable chaperon who had her in training.

Salome _would not_ grow pretty, in spite of all that could be done for her.
Salome would not make a sensation, for all her father's wealth and her own expectations.

She remained quiet, shy, silent, dreamy, even in the gayest society, as in the Highland solitudes, with one worship in her soul--the worship of that self-devoted son--that self-banished prince, whose "counterfeit presentment" she had seen in the tower at Lone, and who had become the idol of her religion.
But all this did not hinder the heiress from receiving some very matter of fact and highly eligible offers of marriage; for though Salome, in the holiness of her dreams, was almost unapproachable, the banker was not inaccessible.

And it was through her father that Salome, in the course of the season, had successively the coronet of a widowed earl, the title of a duke's younger son, and the fortune of a baronet who was just of age, laid at her feet.
She rejected them all--to her father's great disappointment and disturbance.
"I fear--I do much fear that her mind still runs on that convent.