 RUBIN SAX, A SKETCH by Amy Levi. CHAPTER IX. LUNNINGER by PASSION quite possessed, and never quite benumbed by the world's sway. MATTHEW Arnold. The party was never prolonged to a late hour on these occasions, and by ten o'clock there was no one left in the drawing-room in Portland Place except Mrs. Sacks, Mr. Lunninger, Mrs. Conethal, and the young people in their respective trains. The elders had got up a game of wist for the amusement of old Solomon, the termination of which their juniors awaited in conclave at the other end of the room. Lionel and Sidney, meanwhile, sleepy and overfed, quarreled in a corner over the possession of a bound volume of the graphic. "'Judith,' said Rubin, who had taken a seat opposite her, "'do you know that you have made a conquest?' Is that such an unheard-of occurrence?' Rubin laughed gently, and Rose cried, "'It is Mr. Lee Harrison. I know it from the way he looked at supper.' "'Yes, it is, Bertie.' Rubin looked straight in Judith's eyes. He says you exactly fulfill his idea of—'Queen Esther.' "'Ah!' cried Esther Conethal. "'I have always had a theory about her.' When she was kneeling at the feet of that detestable Ahasuerus, she was thinking all the time of some Jew whom she mashed, and who mashed her, and whom she renounced for the sake of her people. A momentary silence fell among them, then Rubin, looking down, said slowly, or perhaps she preferred the splendours of the royal position even to the attractions of that youth whom you supposed her to, er, have mashed. He was not fond of Esther at the best of times. Now he glanced at her under his eyelids with an expression of unmistakable dislike. "'I wonder,' cried Rose, throwing herself into the breach, what Mr. Lee Harrison thought of it all. "'I think,' said Leo, that he was shocked at finding a so little like the people in Daniel Deronda. "'Did he expect,' cried Esther, to see our boxes in the hall already packed and labelled Palestine. "'I've always been touched,' said Leo, at the immense good faith with which George Elliot carried out that elaborate misconception of hers. "'Now Leo is going to begin,' cried Rose. "'He never has a good word for his people. He's always running them down.' "'Horrid bad form,' said Ruben, besides being altogether a mistake. "'Oh, I have nothing to say against us at all,' answered Leo ironically, "'except that we are materialists to our finger's ends, that we have outlived from the nature of things such ideals as we ever had.' "'Idealists don't grow on every bush,' answered Ruben, and I think we have our fair share of them. This is a materialistic age, a materialistic country. And ours, the religion of materialism, the corn and the wine and the oil and the multiplication of the seed, the conquest of the hostile tribes, these have always had more attraction for us than the harp and crown of a spiritualised existence.' "'It is no good to pretend,' answered Ruben in his reasonable Pacific way, that our religion remains a vital force among the cultivated and thoughtful Jews of today. Of course it has been modified, as we ourselves have been modified by the influence of Western thought and Western morality, and belief among thinking people of all races has become, as you know perfectly, a matter of personal idiosyncrasy. "'That does not alter my position,' said Leo, as to the character of the national religion and the significance of the fact. "'Ah, look at us,' he cried with sudden passion. "'Where else do you see such eagerness to take advantage? Such sickening, hideous greed, such cruel, remorseless, striving for power and importance, such ever-active, ever-hungry vanity that must be fed at any cost. Seaped to the lips in sordidness, as we have all been from the cradle, how is it possible that any one among us, by any effort of his own, can wipe off from his soul the hereditary stain?' "'My dear boy,' said Ruben, touched by the personal note which sounded at the clothes of poor Leo's heroics, and speaking with such earnestness, you put things in too lurid a light. We have our faults. You seem to forget what our virtues are. Have you forgotten for how long, and at what a cruel disadvantage the Jewish people has gone its way, until, at last, it has shamed the nations into respect, our self-restraint, our self-respect, our industry, our power of endurance, our love of race, home and kindred, and our regard for their ties? Are none of these things to be set down to our account? Oh, our instincts of self-preservation are remarkably strong. I'll grant you that." Leo tossed back his head, with its longish hair, as he spoke, and Ruben went on. "'And where would you find a truer hospitality, a more generous charity, than among us? A charity whose right hand is so remarkably well posted up in the doings of its left. Oh, come! That's a libel. And not even true. There is one good thing,' cried Leo, taking a fresh start. "'And that is the inevitability, at least as regards us English Jews, of our disintegration, of our absorption by the people in the country. That is the price we are bound to pay for restored freedom and consideration. The community will grow more and more to consist of mediocrities, and worse, as the general world claims our choice of specimens for its own. We may continue to exist as a separate clan, reinforced from below by German and Polish Jews for some time to come, but absorption complete? Inevitable? That is only a matter of time. You and I, sitting here, self-conscious, discussing our own race attributes, race position, are we not as sure a token of what is to come as anything well could be?' Yours is a sweeping theory,' said Ruben, and at present I don't feel inclined to go into the rights and wrongs of it, still less to deny its soundness. I can only say that, should I live to see it borne out, I should be very sorry. It may be a weakness on my part, but I am exceedingly fond of my people. If we are to die as a race, we shall die harder than you think. The tide will airb in the intervals of flowing. That strange, strong instinct which has held us so long together is not a thing easily eradicated. It will come into play when it is least expected. Jew will gravitate to Jew, though each may call himself by another name. If prejudice died, if difference of opinion died, if all the world, metaphorically speaking, thought one thought and spoke one language, there would still remain those unspeakable mysteries, affinity, and love. Ruben's voice sounded curiously moved, and in his eyes, as he spoke, glowed a dreamy flame as of some deep and tender emotion. Judith, leaning forward with parted lips, lifted her shining eyes to his face in a long unconscious gaze. Ruben, with his sword in his hand, fighting the battle for his people, seemed to her a figure noble and heroic beyond speech. In her own breast was kindled a flame of a great emotion. She felt the love of her race grow stronger at every word. Ruben, conscious to the fingertips of Judith's presence, of her gaze, which he did not return, was stirred on his part with a new enthusiasm. He praised her in the race and the race in her, and this was conveyed in some subtle manner to her consciousness. Thus they acted and reacted on one another, deceiving and deceived with that strange unconscious hypocrisy of lovers. The game of wist had come to an end, and every one rose preparatory to departure. Good-night, Uncle Sullivan," said Ruben's mother. She too was a sacks who had married her cousin. Come along, my boy," cried Esther, yawning. I'm dead beat. The domestic habits of the Cobra are not adapted to the human constitution. That is clear. Ruben was standing in the hall with his mother as Rose and Judith came downstairs in their outdoor clothes. Your carriage is at the door," said Israel Leninger to Mrs. Sacks as he lit his cigar. Mrs. Sacks turned to her son. Aren't you coming, Ruben? No, but I do not expect to be late. He answered gently and seriously, stooping down and folding a shawl about her shoulders as he spoke. Mrs. Sacks raised her wide, sallow, wrinkled face to her sons, looked at him a moment, then, with a sudden impulse of tenderness, lifted her hand and stroked back the hair from his forehead. Ah! What had come to Judith, standing in a corner of the hall, watching the little scene? Ah! What did it mean? What was it, this beating and throbbing of all her pulses, this strange choked feeling in her throat, this mist that swam before her eyesight? The dining-room door, near which she stood, was a jar. Moved by the blind impulse of her terror, she pushed it open, and, trembling, ashamed, not daring to analyze her own emotions, she sought the shelter of darkness. While Judith was being driven to Kensington Palace Gardens, lying back pale and tired in a corner of the carriage, Ruben was sauntering toward Piccadilly with a cigar in his mouth. For the moment his mind dwelt on the fact that he had not been able to say good-night to Judith. Where did she make off to? he asked himself persistently. He was strangely irritated and baffled by the little accident. As he went slowly down Regent Street, which was full of light and of people returning from the theatres, the thought of Judith took more and more possession of him till his pulses beat and his senses swam. Ah! Why not? Why not?" Children on his hearth with Judith's eyes, and Judith there herself amongst them. Judith calm, dignified stately, yet a creature so gentle with all, so sweet, so teachable. He looked again and again at this picture of his fancy, fascinated, alarmed at his own fascination. Whatever happened he would never be a poor man. There was the money which would come to him at his grandfather's death, and at his mother's. No inconsiderable sums. There was his own little income besides what his practice brought him. But it was not altogether a question of money. He had no wish to feta himself at this early stage of his career. His ambition was boundless. And the possibilities of the future looked almost boundless, too. He had an immense idea of his own market value, an instinctive aversion to making a bad bargain. From his cradle he had imbibed the creed that it is noble and desirable to have everything better than your neighbour. From the first had been impressed on him the sacred duty of doing the very best for yourself. Yes, he was in love, cruelly, inconveniently, most unfortunately in love. But ten years hence when he would still be a young man the fever would certainly have abated, would be a dream of the past, while his ambition he had no doubt would be as lusty as ever. Thus he swayed from side to side, balancing this way and that, pitying himself and Judith as the victims of fate, full of tenderness, of sentiment, for his own thwarted desires. He believed himself to hesitate to waver, but at the bottom of Ruben's heart there was that which never wavered. He put the question by at last, wearied with the conflict, and gave himself up to pleasant dreams. He thought of the look in Judith's eyes of the vibration in her voice when she spoke to him. Ah, she does not know it herself. Triumph, joy, compunction, an overwhelming tenderness set his pulse's beating, his whole being aglow. It was late when, tired and haggard, he reached his home and let himself in with the key. His mother came out on the landing with a candle. She did not present a charming spectacle on Désirée, her large, partially bald head, deprived of the sheltering, softening cap, her withered neck exposed, the lines of her figure revealed by a dingy old dressing-gown. She gave an exclamation as she saw him. The wide yellow expanse of her face, with its unwholesome yet undying air, lighted up by the twinkling diamonds on either side of it, looked agitated and alarmed. My dear boy, thank God it is you! I've been dreaming about you, a terrible dream! End of Chapter 9 CHAPTER X Dusty Perliers of the Law Tennison Leopold Leninger came slouching down Chance Relain, his hat at the back of his head, a woe-begone air on his expressive face, dejection written in his graceless, characteristic walk, and in the droop of his picturesque head, which was, it must be owned, a little too large for his small, slight figure. He turned up under the archway leading to Lincoln's Inn, and made his way to New Square, where Ruben's chambers were situated. Ruben, the clerk told him, was in court, but was expected every minute, and Leo passed into the inner room, which was his cousin's private sanctum. It was two or three days after the day of atonement, and in less than a week he would be back in Cambridge. He paced restlessly to and fro in the little dingy room, with its professional literature of books and papers, pausing now and then to look out of the window, or to examine the mass of cards, photographs, notes, and tickets, which adorned the mantelpiece. Leo was by no means free from the tribal foible of inquisitiveness. It was not long before the door burst open, and Ruben rushed in in his wig and gown. The former decoration imparted a curious air of sage-ness to his keen face, and brought out more strongly its peculiarities of colour, the clear, dark pallor of the skin, the red lights in the eyes and moustache. "'Hello,' said Leo, still standing by the mantelpiece, his hat tilted back at a very acute angle, his restless fingers busy with the cards on the mantelpiece. "'A nice gay time you appear to be having, old man! Jewish Board of Guardians, Committee Meeting, Anglo-Jewish Association, Committee Meeting, Bell Lane Free Schools, Committee Meeting, shall I go on?' Ruben laughed. "'You see, it consolidates one's position both ways to stand well with the community. And I am a very good Jew at heart, as I have often told you. But if you continue your investigations among my list of engagements, you will find a good many meetings of all sorts which are not communal, not to speak of first nights at the Terpe Shore and the Thalien.' Leo, abandoning the subject, flung himself into a chair, and said, "'Ah, by the by, how is Ronaldson?' "'Much the same as ever. It may be a long business. The doctors have left off issuing bulletins.' Ruben took the chair opposite his cousin, and then said shortly, "'You've come to tell me something.' "'Yes, I've been having it out with my governor.' "'Ah, interrogatively.' "'I told him,' went on Leo, leaning forward and speaking with some excitement, that I hadn't the faintest idea of going on the stock exchange or even of reading for the bar, that my plan was this, to work hard for my degree and then stay on on chance of a fellowship. Everyone up there seems to think the matter lies virtually in my own hands.' "'What did my uncle say to that?' "'Oh, he was furious. Wouldn't listen to reason for a moment. I think, with a boyish, bitter laugh, that he rather confounds a fellow of Trinity with the assistant master at a Jewish boarding school. The word Asher figured very largely in his arguments. "'I think,' said Ruben slowly, that you are making a mistake. "'Ah,' cried Leo, flipping out his hand, you don't understand. "'I can't live. I can't breathe in this atmosphere. I should choke. Up there, somehow it's freer, purer, life is simpler, nobler.' Ruben looked down. "'I quite agree with you on that point. All the same, you were never cut out for a university don. Do you want me to tell you that you are a musician?' Leo blushed like a girl, and his face quivered. He did not altogether approve of Ruben. But Ruben's approval was very precious to him. Moreover, he greatly respected his cousin's intelligent appreciation of music. "'Do you think so?' he cried. "'That's what Norwood says. But there's plenty of opportunity for cultivating music. We have silver up there, remember. He is immensely kind. You might talk it over with silver, but think it well over and do nothing rash. There is plenty of time between now and taking your degree.' He rose and proceeded to take off his wig and gown. "'I don't know that my advice is worth much,' he said. "'But I should say a year or two in Germany, Leipzig, Berlin, Vienna, and if by then you feel justified in setting your face against the substantial attractions of capital court, no doubt your governor can be brought round. You will have to put it to him, Ruben. He believes in no one as he does in you.' He hands some of him, but doubtless he will welcome the idea after the Usher scheme. "'You will have to paint the splendours of a musical success,' cried Leo, his spirits rising, his white teeth flashing as he smiled. "'You must employ rather crude colours and go in for obvious effects, such as the Prince of Wales, the Lord Mayor, the Archbishop of Canterbury, seated in the front row of the stalls at St James's Hall.' Ruben laughed as he put on his well-brushed hat before the glass. "'I would impress upon him how fashionable is the pursuit of the arts in these democratic days,' he added slowly, looking furtively at the lad. "'And shall I tell him that one of these days you will marry very well indeed?' Leo rose hastily, jarred, discomposed. "'Aren't you coming to lunch, Ruben? Yes, I'm ready.' He smiled to himself, and the two young men passed out together into the paved courtyard of the old inn. They made their way up Chantzry Lane into Holburn. Leo hated London almost as vehemently as his cousin loved it. It was the place, he said, which had succeeded better than any other in reducing life to a huge competitive examination. Its busy characteristic streets, which Ruben regarded with an interest both passionate and affectionate, filled him with a dreary sensation of disgust and depression. As they sat down to lunch at the First Avenue Hotel, Lord Norwood came into the dining-room. He was a tall, fair, aristocratic-looking young man with a refined and thoughtful face which, as he advanced towards his friend, broke into a peculiarly charming smile. Leo exclaimed with impetuosity, "'Oh, there's Norwood!' But as the latter approached, he stiffened into self-consciousness. Somehow he did not welcome the jacks to position of his cousin and his friend. Acting on a sudden impulse, he rose and met the latter half-way, and the two young men stood talking together in the middle of the room. Ruben, after a moment's hesitation, rose also and joined them. He greeted Lord Norwood, whom he had met once or twice before, with a little emphasis of deference, which was not lost on poor Leo, who hated himself at the same time for noticing it. Lord Norwood returned Ruben's greeting with marked auteur. That cousin of Leninger's was a snob, was not a person to be encouraged. In the young nobleman's delicate, fastidious, but exceedingly borne mind, there was no mercy for such as he. Ruben, though he showed no signs of it, was keenly alive to the fact that he had been snubbed, was alive no less keenly to the many points in favour of the offender. The Norwoods were people whom it hurt the subtler part of his vanity not to stand well with. They were not rich, not smart, not politically important, but in their own fashion they were people of the very best sort, true aristocrats, such as very few remain to us in these degenerate days. For generations they had borne the reputation of high personal character and of scholarly attainment. They were, in the true sense of the word, exclusive, and their pride was of that nature which, as the poet has it, asserts an inward honour by denying outward show. The friendship existing between Lord Norwood and Leo was founded on mutual admiration. The Jews' many-sided talent, his brilliant scholarship, his mental quickness and versatility, above all his musical genius, had fairly dazzled a scholarly young Englishman who loved art but had not a drop of artist's blood in his veins. Leo and his part had fallen down before the other's refinement of mind and soul and body, and before the delicate strength of his character. It was a strange friendship, perhaps, but one which had stood and was destined long to stand, the test of time. Meanwhile Rubin, who knew that it is half the battle not to know when you are vanquished, quietly invited Lord Norwood to join them at table. He pleaded, coldly, an appointment with a friend, and after a few words with Leo withdrew to a further apartment. Leo had taken in the slight, brief yet significant episode in all its bearings, hating himself meanwhile for his own shrewdness, which he considered a mark of latent meanness. Rubin returned thoughtfully, if quite composedly, to the discussion of his roast pheasant and potato chips. His method of wiping out a snub was the grandly simple one of making a conquest of the snubber. Friends less completely equipped for the battle of life have been known to prefer certain defeat to the chances of such a victory. But Rubin was possessed of a bottomless fund of silent energy, of quiet resistance and persistence, which has stood him ere now in good stead under like circumstances. He appraised Lord Norwood very justly, recognized instinctively the charms of mind and manner which cast such glamour over him in his cousin's eyes, recognized also his limitations, with an irritated consciousness that he, Rubin, was being judged at a far less open-minded tribunal. In such cases it is always the more intelligent person who is at a disadvantage. He appreciates, and is not appreciated. I have no intention of following out Rubin's relations with Lord Norwood, throughout which it may be added he had little to gain, even in the matter of social prestige, for he numbered people far more important among his acquaintance. But it was not long before an invitation to Norwood Towers was given and accepted. I won at least of the people concerned, however, the circumstances which had marked the earlier stages of their acquaintance were never forgotten. A few days later saw Leo back at Trinity with his lexicon, his violin, and the friend of his heart. Here he alternately worked furiously and gave himself up to spells of complete idleness, to sauntering sociable days spent in cheerful, excited discussions of the vexed problems of the universe, or long days of moody solitude. At these latter times he pondered deeply on the unsatisfactoriness of life in general and of his own life in particular, and underwent a good many uncomfortable sensations which he ascribed to a hopeless passion for his friend's sister. Lady Geraldine Sydenham was a gentle, kindly cultivated young woman who had not the faintest idea of having inspired any one with hopeless passion, least of all young Lanninger. She was two or three years older than Leo, a thin, pale person with faint coloring, a rather receding chin, and slightly prominent teeth. She dressed doubterly, and even Leo did not credit her with being pretty. Indeed, he took a fanciful pleasure in dwelling on the fact that she was plain, and in quoting to himself the verse from Browning's Too Late, There never was to my mind such a funny mouth for it would not shut, and the dented chin too, what a chin! He were thin, however, like a bird's. Your hand seemed, some would say, the pounce of a scaly-footed hawk, all but. The world was right when it called you thin. Meanwhile in London Bertie Lee Harrison was celebrating the feast of tabernacles as best he could. He had given up, with considerable reluctance, his plan of living in a tent, the resources of his flat in Albert Hall mansion's not being able to meet the scheme. He consoled himself by visits to the handsome succot which the Montague Coens had erected in their garden in the Bayswater Road. CHAPTER 11 I do not like this manner of a dance, this game of two and two. It were much better to mix between the pauses than to sit, each lady out of earshot, with her friend. SWINBURN CHASLAARD The Lullingers were giving a dance at the beginning of November, and the female part of the household was greatly taken up with preparations for the event. There was much revising of invitation lists, discussion of the social claims of their friends and acquaintance, and the usual anxious beating-up of every available dancing-man. "'Atty will bring Mr. Griffiths and Esther, Mr. Peck,' said Rose. "'They go well, look nice, and everyone sees them everywhere, although Rubin calls them outsiders.' Rose loved dances, as well she might, for from the first she had been a success. Rose with her fair plump shoulders and blonde hair, her high spirits and good nature, her nimble feet and nimble tongue. Rose with her fifty thousand pounds and twenty-ginny ball-gowns. Rose went down, magic phrase, as not one girl in ten succeeds in doing. "'I suppose,' said Judith, that the Samuel Saxes will have to be asked. She, though, of course, she had her admirers, was by no means such a success as her cousin. "'Yes, isn't it a nuisance?' cried Rose, and the Lazarus' hearts. If there is a strong family feeling among the children of Israel, it takes often the form of acute family jealousy. The Jew who will open his doors in reckless ignorance to every sort and condition of Gentile is morbidly sensitive as regards the social standing of the compatriot whom he admits to his hospitality. The Lungers, as we know, were not people of long standing in the community, and numbered among their acquaintance Jews of every rank and shade. From the Cardozos, who were rich, cultivated, could almost trace their descendant from Hillel, the son of David, and had a footing in English society to such children of nature as the Samuel Saxes. "'We must have Nelly Hepburn and the Strettle Girls,' went on Rose consulting her list. "'The men all rush at them, though I don't see that they're so pretty myself. I suppose they make a change from ourselves,' answered Judith, smiling, whose faces are known by heart. Judith was entering with spirit, with a zeal that was almost feverish into the preparations for the forthcoming festivity. She and Rubin had scarcely spoken to one another since the day of atonement. They had met once or twice at family gatherings, at which, either by accident or design on Rubin's part, there had been no opportunity for private conversation, perhaps an instinctive feeling that the old relations were imperiled and that no new ones could ever be so satisfactory held them apart. Meanwhile Judith unconsciously fixed her mind on the one definite fact that Rubin would be at the Lunger's dance. It was in the crowded solitude of ballrooms that they had hitherto found their best opportunity. The night, so much prepared for, came round at last, and the house in Kensington Palace Gardens became, for the time being, the scene of ceaseless activity. Ernest had gone away into the country with the person who was always talked of as his valet. And Leo, of course, was in Cambridge, but the rest of the family, not accepting Lionel and Sidney, who handed programs, had mustered in great force to do honour to the event. From an early hour, poor Mrs. Lunger had taken up her station in the doorway of the primrose-coloured dining-room, where she stood dejectedly welcoming her guests. She was wearing a quantity of valuable lace, very much crumpled, and had a profusion of diamonds scattered about her person, but had apparently forgotten to do her hair. Rose, in short voluminous skirts of pink tulle, and a pale pink satin bodice fitting close about her plump person, defining the lines of her ample hips, was performing introductions with noisy zeal with the help of Jack Quijano, whom she constituted her aider-comp. The Montague Coins had come early, and Adelaide, in a very grand gown, scrutinised the scene with breathless interest, secretly wondering why more people had not asked her to dance. Judith was looking very well. Her short, diaphanous white ball-gown, with its low cut, tight fitting satin bodice, was not exactly a dignified garment, but she managed to maintain, in spite of it, her customary air of stateliness. Moreover, to-night some indefinable change had come over the character of her beauty, heightening it, intensifying it, giving it new life and colour. The calm, unawakened look which many people had found so baffling had left her face. The eyes, always curiously mournful, shone out with a new, soft fire. Bertie Lee Harrison, tripping jauntily into the ballroom, remained transfixed a moment in excited admiration. What a beautiful woman was this cousin, or pseudo-cousin, of Saxes! How infinitely better bread she seemed than the people surrounding her! The Quijanos, as Rubin had told him, were Sephardim, for whose claim to birth he had the greatest respect. But as for that red-headed young man her brother there were no marks of breeding about him. Bertie was puzzled, as the stranger is so often puzzled by the violent contrasts which exist among Jews even in the case of members of the same family. Judith was standing some way off where Bertie stood observing her, while two or three men wrote their names on her dancing card. She was one of the very few people of her race who look well in a crowd or at a distance. The charms of person which a Jew or a Jewess may possess are not usually such as will bear the test of being regarded as a whole. Some quite commonplace English girls and men who were here to-night looked positively beautiful as they moved about among the ill-made sons and daughters of Shem, whose interesting faces gained so infinitely on a nearer view even where it is a case of genuine good looks. Bertie waited a minute till the men had moved off, then advanced to Miss Quijano and humbly asked for two dances. Judith gave them to him with a smile. He was a poor creature, certainly, but he was Rubin's friend, and she knew that, in one way at least, Rubin thought well of him. He was one of the few Gentiles of her acquaintance whom he had not stigmatized as an outsider. Moreover, Bertie's little air of deference was a pleasant change from the rather patronising attitude of the young men of her set, whose number was very limited and who were aggressively conscious of commanding the market. Bertie, his dances secured, moved off regretfully. He would have liked to sue for further favours, but his sense of decorum restrained him. Had he but known it he might, without exciting notice, have claimed a third, at least, of the dances on Judith's card. Hard flirtation was the order of the day, and the chaperones who were few in number gossiped comfortably together while their charges sat out half the night with the same partner. Rose fell upon Bertie at this point and fired him off like a gun at one or two partnerless damsels, while Judith, her partner in her wake, moved over to the doorway where Adelaide was standing with Caroline Cardozo. It was eleven o'clock and Rubin had not come. Judith had, it must be owned, changed her position with a view to consulting the whole clock, and perhaps Adelaide had some inkling of this, for she said very loudly to her companion, It is a first night at the Thalien, my brother never misses one. I don't expect we shall see him to-night. Young men have so many ways of amusing themselves, I wonder they care about dances at all. The musicians struck up a fresh wolf, and Bertie came over to claim the first of his dances with Judith. He danced very nicely, in a straightforward, unambitious way, never reversing his partner round a corner without saying, I beg your pardon. Esther, her sharp brown shoulders, shuffling restlessly in and out of a gold-coloured gown of moire silk, with a string of pearls around her neck worth a king's ransom, surveyed the scene with shrewd, miserable eyes, while rattling on aimlessly to her partner and protégé Mr. Peck. It was indeed a motley throng which was whirling and laughing and shouting across the music in the bare, bright, flower-scented apartment. The great majority of the people were Jews, Jews belonging to varying shades of caste and clique in that socially-sensitive community. But besides these, there was a goodly contingent of gentile dancing men, outsiders, according to Rubin, every one, and a smaller band of gentile ladies who were the fashion of the hour among the sons of Shem. Had form was the label affixed by Rubin to these attractive maids and matrons. To give distinction to the scene there were a well-known RA who had painted Rose's portrait for last year's academy, two or three pretty actresses, an ex-Lord Mayor who had been knighted while in office, and last, though by no means least in the eyes of the clannish children of Israel, Caroline Cardozo and her father. What a pretty girl, did you say? remarked Esther as the music died away. Yes, Judith Quajano is very good-looking, but I don't know that she goes down particularly well. Mr. Peck made some complimentary remark of a general character as to the beauty of Jewish ladies. Yes, we have some pretty women, Esther answered, but our men know. The Jew, unlike the horse, is not a noble animal. Esther, it will be seen, was of those who walk naked and are not ashamed. At this point, a fashionably late hour, a new arrival was announced and in March Netter and Alex Saxe, their heads very much in the air, the self-assertion of self-distrust written on every line of their ingenuous countenances. Netter, who had had a new dress from Paris for the occasion, looked rather well in her own style, which was of the exuberant black-haired, highly-coloured kind, and was at once greeted by one of the outsiders as an old friend. This was no less a person than Adelaide's particular protégé, Mr. Griffiths, who, ignorant of the fine shades of community class distinction, engaged Miss Saxe for several dances under the eyes of his mortified patroness. Mr. Griffiths, indeed, was an impartial person who, so long as you gave him a good floor, a decent supper, and a partner who could go, would lend the light of his presence to any ballroom whatever, whether situated in South Kensington or made a veil. Alex Saxe was less fortunate than his sister. There were plenty of men and the girls whom he thought worthy of inviting to dance, for the most part, declared themselves engaged. This was a new experience to him. His skillful dancing, it was of the acrobatic or gymnastic order, his powers of chaff and repartee, above all, his reputation as a party had secured him a higher place among the maidens of made a veil. He stood now, his back to the wall, an air of contempt for the whole proceeding written on his florid face, exclaiming loudly and petulantly to his sister whenever he had the opportunity, they don't introduce, they don't introduce. Twelve o'clock was striking as Ruben Saxe stepped into the hall, which by this time was filling with couples sitting out, a few of them really enjoying themselves, a great majority gay with that rather spurious gaiety, that forcing of the note, which is so marked a characteristic of festivities. Sounds of waltz music were born from the drawing-room, and the draped aperture of the doorway, the door itself had been removed, showed a capering throng of dances of varying degrees of agility. Ruben advanced languidly. His face wore the mingle look of exhaustion and nerve-tension, which with him denoted great fatigue. It had been a long day, in and out of court all the morning, two committee meetings, political and philanthropical, respectively, later on, a hurried club-dinner, and an interminable first-night with hitches in the scene shifting and long waits between the acts. He had told himself over and over again that he would cut the dance at his uncles, and here he was, alleging to himself as an excuse the impossibility of getting to sleep directly after the theatre. It was little more than a month that he had been home, and already his old enemy, Insomnia, showed signs of being on the track. Ruben made his way to a position near the foot of the stairs, which afforded a good view of the ballroom. He could not see Judith, a circumstance which irritated him, as he did not wish to go in search of her. Beyond in the crowded refreshment-room he had a glimpse of Rose, who was exceedingly free-on'd, giggling behind a large pink ice, while Jack Guihano, a look of conscious waggishness on his face, dropped confidential remarks into her ear. Esther, on the stairs behind him, was delivering herself freely of cheap epigrams to an impecunious partner, and in a rose-lit recess, was to be seen in Montague Cohen, his pale, pompous, feeble face wreathed in smiles, enjoying himself hugely with a light-hearted matron from the Gentile camp. The whole scene was familiar enough to Ruben, who, from his boyhood upward, had taken part in the festivities of his tribe with their gorgeously gowned and bejeweled women, elaborate floral decorations and costly suppers. The Jew, it may be remarked in passing, eats and dresses at least two or three degrees above his Gentile brother in the same rank of life. The music came to an end, and the dancers streamed out from the ballroom. Alex Sacks, who had been dancing with his sister, brushed past Ruben in the throng, and the latter was mechanically aware of hearing him say to his partner, mixed, very mixed, scratch-lot of people, I call it. Lionel Lunninger came rushing up to him in all the glory of an eaten suit and a white gardenia. So you've come at last, Ruben. You are very late and all the pretty girls are engaged. Have a programme?" Ruben did not answer. By this time the ballroom was almost empty, and he could see clearly into the room beyond where a red cloth recess had been built in from the balcony. CHAPTER XII There are flashes struck from midnight. There are fire-flames, noondays kindle, whereby piled-up honours perish, whereby swollen ambitions dwindle. Oh, observe! Of course, next moment to the world's honours in derision, trampled out the light for ever. CHRISTINA There were two people sitting there, to all appearance, completely absorbed in one another. In the distance, Judith's head bending slightly forward, her profile, the curves of her neck and bosom, and the white mass of her gown were to be seen clearly outlined against the red, and another figure in close proximity to the first defined itself against the same background. Everyone started. Judith and Lee Harrison. His apathy, his fatigue, his uncertainty as to seeking Judith vanished as by magic. Outwardly he looked impassive as ever, as he strolled into the all-but-deserted ballroom. It would have taken a close observer to perceive the repressed intensity of his every movement. There was a draped alcove, dividing the front and back drawing-rooms, where Caroline Cardoza and Adelaide were standing as Ruben sauntered towards them. "'I hardly expected to see you,' cried his sister as Ruben stopped and greeted the ladies. Adelaide was not enjoying herself. Her social successes, such as they were, were not usually obtained in the open competition of the ballroom. "'Am I too late for a dance?' asked Ruben, turning with deference to Miss Cardozo. She handed him her card with a faint smile. There were two or three vacant places on it. "'A great fortune,' I am quoting Esther, though it always brings proposals of marriage, does not so invariably bring invitations to dance. Caroline Cardozo was a plain, thin, wistful girl, with a shy manner that some people mistook for standoffishness, who was declared by the men of Leninger's set to be without an atom of go. Her wealth and importance notwithstanding, she was, as Rose in her capacity of hostess explained, difficult to get rid of. Ruben, his dance duly registered, stood talking obeyingly, while scrutinizing from beneath his lids the pair on the balcony. The nearer view showed him the unmistakable devotion on Bertie's little fair face, which was lifted close to Judith's. He appeared to be devouring her with his eyes. And Judith, it seemed to Ruben that never before had he seen that light in her eyes, never that flush on her soft cheek, never that strange indescribable, almost passionate air in her pose, in her whole presence. His own heart was beating with a wild, incredulous anger, an astonished contempt. He must be careful of Judith, he to beware of engaging her feelings too deeply. He, who after all these years had never been able to bring that look into her eyes. Bertie it was impossible. In any case, with sudden vindictiveness, it was unlikely that Bertie himself meant anything, and yet, yet he was just that sort of man to do an idiotic thing of the kind. The music struck up, and the dancers drifted back to the ballroom. Ruben, bowing himself away, turned to see Judith and her escort standing behind him, while the latter, gathering courage, wrote his name again and again on her card. Ruben remained a moment in doubt, then went straight up to her. Good evening, Miss Quajano. There was a note of irony in his voice, a look of irony in his pale, tense face. The glance that he shot at her from his brilliant eyes was almost cruel. Ah! Good evening, Ruben. She gave a little gasp, thrilled, bewildered. Long ago her searching glance, travelling across the two crowded rooms, had distinguished the top of Ruben's head in the hall beyond. She knew just the way the head grew, just the way it was lifted from the forehead in a side-long crest, just the way it was beginning to get a little thin at the temples. Bertie moved off in search of his partner with a bow and a reminder of future engagements. May I have the pleasure of a dance? Ruben retained his tone of ironical formality, but looking into her uplifted face his jealousy faded and was forgotten. She held up her card with a smile. It was quite full. Ruben took it gently from her hand, glanced at it, and tore it into fragments. Judith said not to word. To both of them the little act seemed fraught with strange significance. The beginning of a new phase in their mutual relations. Ruben gave her his arm in silence. She took it, half frightened, and he led her to the further most corner of the crimson recess. The dancers, overflowing from the ballroom beyond, closed about it, and they were screened from sight. Ruben leaned forward, looking at her with eyes that seemed literally a light with some inward flame. The precautions, the restraints, the reserves, which had hitherto fenced in their intercourse, were for the moment overthrown. Which was swept away on a current of feeling which was bearing them who knew whither. To Judith Ruben was no longer a commodity of the market with a high price set on him. He was a piteous human creature who entreated her with his eyes, yet held her chained, her suppliant, and her master. A soft wind blew in suddenly through the red curtains, and stirred the hair on Judith's forehead. Aren't you cold?" Ruben broke the silence for the first time. No, not at all. She smiled, then holding back the red drapery with her hand, looked out into the night. The November air was damp, warm, and filled, full of a yellow haze which any but a Londoner would have called a fog. Across the yard and a half of garden, which divided the house from the street, she could see the long, deserted thoroughfare with its double line of lamps, their flames shining dull through the mist. Ruben watched her. The clear curve of the lifted arm, the beautiful lines of the half averted face stirred his already excited senses. Judith. She turned her face with its almost ecstatic look towards him letting fall the curtains. There were some chrysanthemums like snowflakes in her bodice, closely showing against the white, and as she turned Ruben bent towards her and laid his hand on them. I'm going to commit a theft, he said, and his low voice shook a little. Judith yielded passive, rapt, as his fingers fumbled with the gold pin. It was like a dream to her, a wonderful dream, with which the whirling maze of dancers, the heavy scents, the delicious music were inextricably mingled, and mingling with it also was a strange, harsh sound out in the street outside, which faint and muffled at first was growing every moment louder and more distinct. Ruben had just succeeded in releasing the flowers from their fastening, but he held them loosely, with doubtful fingers, realizing suddenly what he had done. Both shivered, vaguely conscious of a change in the moral atmosphere. The noise in the street was very loud, and words could be distinguished. What is it they are saying? He cried, dropping the flowers, springing to the aperture and pulling back the curtain. Outside the house stood a dark figure, a narrow crackling sheet flung across one shoulder. A voice mounted up, clear in discordance, through the mist. Death of a conservative MP! Death of the member of St. Paul Wins! Ah, what is it? Cold, white, trembling. She too heard the words, and knew that they were her sentence. He turned towards her. On his face was the look of a man who has escaped a great danger. Paul Ronaldson is dead. It has come suddenly at the last, no doubt I shall find a telegram at home. He spoke in his most everyday tones, but he did not look at her. She summoned all her strength, all her pride. Then I suppose you will be going down there tomorrow? Her voice never faltered. No, in any case I must wait till after the funeral. He looked down, stiffly. It was she who kept her presence of mind. Don't you want to buy a paper and to tell Adelaide? If you will excuse me, where shall I leave you? Oh, I will stop here. The dance is just over. He moved off awkwardly. She stood there, white and straight, and never moving. At her feet lay her own chrysanthemums, crushed by Ruben's departing feet. She picked them up and flung them into the street. At the same moment a voice sounded at her elbow. I have found you at last! Is this our dance, Mr. Lee Harrison? End of CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XIII We did not dream in my heart, and yet with what a pang we woke at last! A. Mary F. Robinson Rose, with a candle in her hand, stood at the top of the stairs, and yawned. It was half-past three. The last waltz had been waltzed, the last light extinguished, the last carriage had rolled away. Early on his road to Albert Hall Mansions was dreaming dreams, and Ruben, as he tossed on his sleepless bed pondering plans for the coming conquest, was desegrably haunted by the recollection of some white chrysanthemums which he had let fall on purpose. It has been a great success, said Judith, passing by her cousin and going towards her own room. Rose followed her, and, sitting down on the bed, began drawing out the pins from her elaborately dressed hair. Yes, I think it went off all right. Caroline Cadoso stuck now and then, and no one would dance with poor Alec, so I had to take him round myself. Judith laughed. She had danced straight through the program, had eaten supper, had talked gaily in the intervals of dancing. Rose got up from the bed and went over to Judith. Please unfasten my bodice. I have sent Marie to bed. Then, as Judith complied, what was Ruben telling Adelaide, and why did he make off so soon? Mr. Ronaldson, the member for St. Baldwin's is dead, a man came and shouted the news down the street. Her voice was quite steady. What a ghoul Ruben is! He has been waiting to step into that dead man's shoes this last month and more. In Sacks MP, my brother, the member for St. Baldwin's, a man told me in the house last night, my son cannot get away while Parliament is sitting. The whole family will be quite unbearable. Judith bent her head over an obstinate knot in the silk dress lace. He's not elected yet, she said. Rose, her bodice unfastened, sprang round and faced her cousin. Ruben is as hard as nails, she cried with apparent inconsequence. Under all that good nature, he is as hard as nails. Undo my frock, please," said Judith, yawning with assumed sleepiness. It must be nearly four o'clock. Rose's capable fingers moved quickly in and out the lace, as she drew the tag from the last hole, she said. Well, Judith, when are we to congratulate you? That did not affect to misunderstand the illusion. Bertie's open devotion had acted as a buffer between her and her smarting pride. Poor little person, she said, and smiled. You might do worse, said Rose, gathering herself up for departure. The mask fell off from Judith's face as the door closed on her cousin. She stood there, stiff and cold, in the middle of the room, her hands hanging loosely at her side. Rose put her head in at the door. Do you know what Jack says? She began, then stopped suddenly. Judith, don't look like that. It is no good. No, said Judith, lifting her eyes. It is no good. Then she went over to the door and shut it. She sat down on the edge of her little white bed, supporting one knee with a smooth, solid arm, while she stared into vacancy. Nothing had happened, nothing. Yet henceforward life would wear a different face for her, and she knew it. It was impossible any longer to deceive herself. Her wide, vacant eyes saw nothing, but her mental vision, grown suddenly acute, was confronted by a thronging array of images. Yes, she was beginning to see it all now. Family and slowly indeed at first, but with ever-increasing clearness as she gazed, to see how it had all been from the beginning. How slowly and surely this thing had grown about her life. How in the night a silent foe had undermined a citadel. She had been caught, snared in a fine, strong net of woven hair, this young, strong creature. Her strength mocked her in the clinging, subtle toils. She got up from the bed slowly, stiffly, and stood again upright in the middle of the room. Forced into a position alien to her whole nature, to the very essence of her decorous, law-abiding soul, it was impossible that she should not seek to strike a blow on her own behalf. It is no good, Rose had said, and she had echoed the words. She did not want to put her thoughts into words, but her heart cried out in sudden rebellion. Why was it no good? She went over mentally almost every incident in her intercourse with Ruben. Saw her how from day to day, from month to month, from year to year they had been drawn closer together in ever-strengthening, ever-tightening bonds. She remembered his voice, his eyes, his face, his near face, as she had heard and seen them a few short hours ago. The conventions, the disguises which she had been taught to regard as the only realities, fell down suddenly before the living reality of this thing which had grown up between her and Ruben. She recognized in it a living creature, wonderful, mysterious, beautiful, and strong, with all the rites of its existence. It was impossible that they who had given it breath should do violence to it, should stain their hands with its blood. It was impossible. She stood there still. Her head lifted up, glowing with a strange exultation as her pride reasserted itself. Opposite was a mirror, a three-sided toilet mirror hung against the wall, and suddenly Judith caught sight of her own reflected face with its wild eyes and flushed cheeks. Her face, which was usually so calm, calm, had she ever been calm, save for the false calmness which narcotic drugs bestow? She was frightened of herself, of her own daring, of the wild strange thoughts and feelings which struggled for mastery within her. There was nothing more terrible, more tragic than this ignorance of a woman of her own nature, her own possibilities, her own passions. She covered her face with her hands, and in the darkness the thoughts came crowding. Was it thought, or vision, or feeling? The inexorable realities of her world, those realities of which she had so rarely allowed herself to lose sight, came pressing back upon her with renewed insistence. That momentary glow of exultation, of self-indication, faded before the hard daylight which rushed in upon her soul. She saw not only how it had all been, but how it would all be to the end. Then once more his low, broken voice was in her ear, his supplicating eyes before her, the music, the breath of dying flowers assailed once more her senses. She lived over again that near, far-off, wonderful moment. Again Judith dropped her hands to her side. She clenched them in an intolerable agony. She took a few steps and flung herself face-forward on the pillow. Shame, anger, pride, all were swept away in an overwhelming torrent of emotion, in a sudden flood of passion, of longing, of desolation, baffled, vanquished, she lay there, crushing out the sound of unresisted sobs. From her heart rose only the cry of defeat. Ruben, Ruben, have mercy on me! End of Chapter 13. CHAPTER 14 MAN'S LOVE IS OF MAN'S LIFE A THING APART IT IS WOMAN'S WHOLE EXISTENCE Byron. Judith slept far into the morning, the sound deep sleep of exhaustion, that sleep of the heavy-hearted, from which, almost by an effort of will, the dreams are banished. The first thing at which she was aware was the sound of Rose's voice, and then of Rose herself standing over her with a plate and a cup of coffee in her hand. Judith raised herself on her elbow. A vague sense of calamity clung to her. Her eyes were heavy, with more than the heaviness of sleep. It is ten o'clock, cried Rose. I brought you your breakfast. Rather handsome of me, isn't it? Yes. Very, said Judith, smiling faintly, how came I to sleep so late? It was quite an event in her well-ordered existence. She realized it with a little shock which set her memory in motion. Judith drank her coffee hastily, and sprang out of bed. She went through her toilette with even more care and precision than usual. There is nothing more conducive to self-respect than a careful toilette. Nothing had happened. Everything had happened. Judith felt that she had grown older in the night. All day long people came and went and gossiped. Judith loudly and ceaselessly of last night's party, more cautiously and at intervals of Mr. Ronaldson's death. In the evening Adelaide, Esther, and Mrs. Sax came in, but not Rubin. She knew her sentence. That brief moment of clear vision of courage had faded. As we know, even as it came, now she dared not even look back upon it, dared not think at all. Nothing had happened. Nothing. She fell back upon the unconsciousness, the unsuspiciousness of her neighbours. For them the world was not changed. How was it possible that great things had taken place? She talked, moved about, and went through all the little offices of her life. Now and then she repeated to herself the formulae on which she had been brought up, which she had always accepted as to the unseriousness the unreality of the romantic, the sentimental in life. Two or three days went by without any event to mark them. On the fourth Bertie Lee Harrison paid a call of interminable leg when Judith, with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, talked to him with unusual animation. In her heart she was thinking, Rubin will never come again, and what shall I do? But the very next day Rubin came. It was, of course, impossible that he should stay away for any length of time. The Londoners were at tea in the drawing-room after dinner, when the door was pushed open and he entered, as usual, unannounced. Judith's heart leapt suddenly within her. The misery of the last few days melted like a bad dream. After all, were things any different from what they had always been? Here was Rubin, here was she, face to face, alive, together. She came slowly forwards, his eyelids drooping, an air of almost wooden immobility on his face. The black frock coat which she wore, and in which he had that day attended Mr. Ronaldson's funeral, brought out the unusual soloneness of his complexion. There was a withered, yellow look about him tonight, which forcibly recalled his mother. Judith's heart grew very soft as she watched him shaking hands with her aunt and uncle. He is not well, she thought, then. He always comes last to me. But even as this thought flitted across her mind, Rubin was in front of her, holding out his hand. For a moment she stared astonished at the stiff, outstretched arm, the downcast, expressionless face, taking in the exaggerated self-conscious indifference of his whole manner. Rubin, with lightning quickness, put her hand in his. It was as though he had struck her. She looked round, half expecting a general protest against this public insult, saw the quiet, unmoved faces and understood. She too, to outward appearance, was quiet and unmoved enough as she sat there on a primrose-coloured ottoman, bending over a bit of work. But the blood was beating and surging in her ears, and her stiff, cold fingers blundered impotently with needle and thread. Rubin finished his greetings, then sat down near his uncle. He had come, he explained to say, good-bye, before going down to St. Baldwin's, for which, as he had expected, he had been asked to stand. There was every chance of his being returned, Mr. Lunger believed? Well, yes, there was a small radical party down there, originally, beginning to feel its way, and they had brought forward a candidate, otherwise there would have been no opposition. Sir Nicholas Chemis, who had a place down there, and who was member for the county of which St. Baldwin's was the chief town, had been very kind about it all. Lady Chemis was Lee Harrison's sister. Judith listened, cold as a stone. How could he bear to sit there, drawing out these facts to Israel Lunger, which in the natural course of things should have been poured forth for her private benefit in delicious confidence and sympathy? Esther, who was spending the evening with her cousins, came and sat beside her. You are putting green silk instead of blue into the corn-flowers, she said. Judith lifted her head and met the other's curious, penetrating glance. When I was a little girl, cried Esther, still looking at her, a little girl of eight years old, I wrote in my prayer-book, Cursed art thou, O Lord my God, who hast the cruelty to make me a woman, and I have gone on saying that prayer all my life the only one. Judith stared at her as she sat there, self-conscious, melodramatic, anxious for effect. She never knew if mere whim or a sudden burst of cruelty had prompted her words. According to her own account, Esther, she said, you must have always been a little beast. Esther chuckled. Judith went on sewing, but changed her silks. She wondered if the evening would never end, and yet she did not want Ruben to go. He rose at last and made his farewells. Judith put out her hand carelessly as he approached her, then drawn by an irresistible magnetism, lifted her eyes to his. As she did so, from Ruben's eyes flashed out a long melancholy glance of passion, of entreaty, of renunciation, and once again even from the depths of her own humiliation arose that strange yearning sentiment of pity with which this man, who was strong, ruthless, and successful, had such power of inspiring her. Only for a moment did their eyes meet. The next she had turned hers away, had in her turn grown cold and unresponsive. How dared he look at her thus! How dared he profane that holiest of sorrows, the sorrow of those who love, and are by fate separated! CHAPTER XV There was a little set of shelves in Judith's bedroom, which contained the whole of her modest library, some twenty books in all, Lorna Dune, Carlisle's Sterling, Macaulay's Essays, Hypatia, The Life of Palmerston, and The Life of Lord Beaconsfield. These were among her favourites, and they had all been given to her by Ruben Sacks. Like many wholly unliterary people, she preferred the mildly instructive even in her fiction. It was a matter of surprise to her that clever creatures like Leo and Esther, for instance, should pass whole days, when the fit was on in the perusal of such works as Cometh Up as a Flower and Molly Bourne. But it was not novels, even the less frivolous ones that Judith cared for. Rose, whose literary tastes inclined towards the society papers, varied by an occasional French novel, had said of her with some truth that the drier a book was, the better she liked it. Ruben had long ago discovered Judith's power of following out a train of thought in her clear, careful way, and had taken pleasure in providing her with historical essays and political lives, and even in leading her through the mazes of modern politics. Perhaps he did not realise what it is always hard for the happy, objective male creature to realise, that if he had happened to be a doctor, Judith might have developed scientific tastes, or if a collergement, have found nothing so interesting as theological discussion and the history of the church. Judith stood before her little library in the dark November dawn, with her candle in her hand scanning the familiar titles with weary eyes. She was so young and strong that even in her misery she could sleep the greater part of the night, but these last few days she had taken to waking at dawn to lying for hours wide-eyed in her little white bed while the slow day grew. But today it was intolerable. She could bear it no longer to lie and let the heavy, inarticulate sorrow prey on her. She would try a book, not a very hopeful remedy in her opinion, but one which Reuben, Esther and Leo, who were all troubled by sleeplessness, regarded she knew as the best thing under the circumstances. So she scanned the familiar book-shelves, then turned away. There was nothing there to meet her case. She put on her dressing-gown and stole out softly across the passage to Leo's empty room, where she remembered to have seen some books. Here she set the candle down, and, as she looked round the dim walls, her thoughts went out suddenly to Leo himself, went out to him with a new tenderness, with something that was almost comprehension. She knew, though she did not use the word to herself, that after some blind, groping fashion of his own, Leo was an idealist. Poor Leo. There were books on a table near, and she took them up one by one. Some volumes of Heine in prose and verse, the operatic score of Parsifal, Donaldson on the Greek theatre, and then two books of poetry, each of which, had she but known it, appealed strongly to two strongly marked phrases of Leo's mood, poems and ballads, and a worn green copy of the poems of Clough. She turned over the leaves carelessly. Poetry? Yes, she would try a little poetry. She had always enjoyed reading Tennyson and Shakespeare in the schoolroom, so she put the books under her arm, went back to her room, and crept into her little cold bed. She took up the volume of Swinburne, and began reading it mechanically by the flickering candle-light. The rolling, copious phrases conveyed little meaning to her, but she liked the music of them. It was something to make a sophisticated onlooker laugh in the sight of this young, pure creature, with her strong, slow-growing passions, her strong, slow-growing intellect, bending over the diffuse, unreserved, unrestrained pages. She came at last to one poem, The Triumph of Time, which seemed to have more meaning than the others, and which had rested her attention, though even this was only comprehensible at intervals. She read on and on, I have given no man of any fruit to eat. I have trod the grapes. I have drunken the wine. Had you eaten and drunken and found it sweet? This wild new growth of the corn and vine, this wine and bread without leaves or leaven. We had grown as gods, as the gods in heaven, souls fair to look upon, goodly to greet. Unsplendid spirit, your soul and mine. In the change of years, in the coil of things, in the clamour and rumour of life to be, we, drinking love at the furthest springs, covered with love as a covering tree, we had grown as gods, as the gods above, filled from the heart to the lips with love. All fast in his arms, clothed warm in his wings, O love, my love, had you loved but me. We had stood as the shore-stars stand and moved, as the moon moves, loving the world, and seen grief collapse as a thing disapproved, death consume as a thing unclean, twin halves of a perfect heart made fast, soul to soul, while the years fell past. Had you loved me once, as you have not loved, had the chance been with us, that has not been. The slow tears gathered in her eyes, and forcing themselves forward, fell down her cheeks. Then there was, after all, something to be said for feelings which had not their basis in material relationships. They were not mere phantasmagoria, conjured up by silly people, by sentimental people, by women. Clever men, men of distinction recognized them, treated them as of paramount importance. The practical, if not the theoretical teaching of her life, had been to treat as absurd any close or strong feeling which had not its foundations in material interests. There must be no undue giving away of one's self in friendship, in the pursuit of ideas, in charity, in a public cause. Only gushing fools did such a thing, and their folly generally met with its reward. And this teaching, sensible enough in its way, had been accepted without question by the clannish, exclusive, conservative soul of Judith, where your interests lie, there should lie your duties, and where your duties your feelings. A wholesome doctrine, no doubt, if not one that will always meet the far-reaching and complicated needs of a human soul, and if this doctrine applied to friendship, to philanthropy, to art and politics, in how much greater a degree must it apply to love, to the unspoken, unacknowledged love between a man and woman, a thing in its very essence in material, and which in its nature can have no rights, no duties attached to it. It was the very hatred of the position into which she had been forced, the very loathing of what was so alien to her whole way of life and mode of thought that was giving Judith courage. If she could not vindicate herself, she must be simply crushed beneath the load of shame. On one point, the nature and extent of her feeling for Rubin, there could no longer be illusion or self-deception. She would have walked to the stake for him without a murmur, and she knew it. She knew, too, that Rubin loved her, as far as in him lay, knew with a bitter humiliation how far short of hers fell his love. Yet, deep in her heart, lay the touching obstinate belief of the woman who loves, that she was necessary to him, that she alone could minister to his needs, that in turning away from her and her large protection, her infinite toleration, he was turning away from the best which life had to offer him. In the first sharp agony of awakening, Judith, as we know, had recognized that which had grown up between her and Rubin as a reality with rights and claims of its own. And the conviction of this was slowly growing upon her in the intervals of the swinging back at the pendulum, when she judged herself by conventional standards, and felt herself withered by her own scorn, the scorn of her world, and the scorn of the man she loved. A great tear, splashing down across the triumph of time, recalled her to herself. She shut the book, and sat up in bed. Creeping back the heavy masses of hair from her forehead, often and often, with secret contempt and astonishment, had she seen Esther dissolved in tears over her favourite poets. Should she grow in time to be like Esther, undignified, unreserved? Would people talk about her, pity her, say that she had had unfortunate love affairs? Oh yes, they would talk. That was the way of her world. Even Rose, who was kind, and her own mother, who loved her, no doubt they had begun to talk already. Then, with a sense of unutterable weariness, she fell back on the pillows, and slept. CHAPTER XVI What help is there? There is no help, for all these things are so. AC SWIDBURN Come over here, Judith, and I will show you something, said Ernest Lunninger, as he sat by the fire in the morning-room. It was two days after Ruben's departure for St. Baldwin's, and Ernest had returned from the country that morning. She went over to him, drawing a chair close to his. Judith was always very kind to him, and he admired her immensely, treating her at intervals with a sort of gallantry. Now, look at me! He had the solitaire board on his knee, and a little glass ball with coloured threads spun into it between his fingers. There, and there, and there! Judith bent forward dutifully, watching how he lifted the marbles one after the other from their holes. Don't you see? He looked at her triumphantly, but a little irritated at her obtuseness. Oh, yes, said Judith vaguely. The figure eight, don't you see? He pointed to the balls remaining on the board. Ah, so it is! Where did you learn to do that? She asked, smiling gently. Ah, that's telly, isn't it? He chuckled slyly, swept the balls together with his hand, and announced his intention of going in search of his man, with a view to a game of billiards. Judith sank back in her chair as the door closed on him. The firelight played about her face, which, though not less beautiful, had grown to look older. She had been living hard these last few days. The door opened, and Rose came in with her hat on and a parcel in her hand. No tea! She cried, kneeling down on the hearth-rug, and holding out her hands to the fire. It isn't five o'clock yet. There was an air of tension, of expectancy almost about Judith, which contrasted markedly with a habitual serenity. Rose turned suddenly. When, Judith, when?" she cried, with immense archeness. I don't know, said Judith quietly. There had been a dance the night before at the Cone Files, where Bertie's unconcealed devotion to herself had been one of the events of the hour. Judith! Rose regarded her with excitement. Do you mean to say he has spoken? Or are you humbugging in that serious way of yours? Mr. Lee Harrison has not proposed to me, if that is what you want to know. Rose unfastened her fermentl in silence. Something in Judith's manner puzzled her. He really is a nice little person! Rose went on after a pause. Such beautiful manners! Oh! he hands plates and opens doors very prettily. Judith spoke with a certain weary scorn, which Rose accepted as the tone of depreciation natural to a woman who discusses an undeclared admirer. As a matter of fact, Judith recognized clearly the marks of breeding, the hundred and one fine differences which distinguished Bertie from the people of her set, whose manners were almost invariably tinged with the respective persons that sure foe to respective humanity. She recognized them and their value as hallmarks, wondering all the time with a dreary wonder that any one should attach importance to such things as these, for in her heart she despised the man. His intelligent fluency, his unfailing, monotonous politeness, were a weariness to her. His very readiness to fall down utterly before her seemed to her, and last poor Judith, in itself a brand of inferiority. She at last cried Rose as the door opened, and Adelaide, what a scent you have for tea, Addy! Mrs. Montague Cohen swept in past the servant with the tray and took possession of the best chair. Mama is here, too, she cried. She and Aunt Aidan will be in a minute. She drew off her gloves, and the two girls rose to greet Mrs. Sacks, who, at this point, came in with Mrs. Lunger into the room. Judith gave her hand very quietly to Ruben's mother, then took her seat at some distance from the group round the tea-table, occupying herself with cutting the leaves of a novel that had just arrived from Muddy's. Ruben is nominated, cried Adelaide, as she helped herself liberally to tea-cake. We had a telegram this morning. He expects to get in this time," said Mrs. Lunger, a pessimistic mind reverting naturally to her nephew's first unsuccessful attempt at embarking on a political career. "'It won't be for want of interest if he doesn't,' said Mrs. Sacks, so Nicholas Kemosan and his wife are working day and night for him, day and night. And Mrs. Lee Harrison, Lady Kemosan's sister, she seems to be quite specially zealous in the good cause, put in Adelaide with meaning. Secretly, she was mortified at not having been asked down to St. Baldwin's for the campaign, Ruben having met her hints on the subject in a very decided manner. There was some satisfaction in venting her feelings on Judith, for whose benefit her last remark was uttered. "'When is the election?' said Rose, turning to her aunt. "'Not till to-day week, but I may safely say that there is no real cause for anxiety.' "'Did you see last night's globe?' cried Adelaide, and the St. James's. They cracked up, Ruben, no end.' Judith had seen them. She had seen also the Palmaugasette, which expressed itself in very different terms. She had put back poems and ballads on its shelf, and had taken to reading all the articles respecting the prospects of the St. Baldwin's elections that she could lay hands on. At least she had a right to be interested in what she had been told so much about, but there were times when she felt, as she read, that her interest was intrusive—a thing to be ashamed of. "'I suppose,' said Rose, that he is too busy to write much. We had a letter yesterday, just a line. He seemed in splendid spirits, and has promised to write from time to time,' answered Adelaide. "'A good son,' said Mrs. Sacks, half tenderly, half jestingly, very proudly, who never forgets his mother.' So the talk went on. Judith sat there listening, cutting open her novel and throwing in a remark from time to time. Every word that was uttered seemed a brick in the wall that was building between herself and Ruben. In this crisis of his career, so long looked forward to, so often disgust, he had no need, no thought of her. Adelaide, Esther, Rose, all had more claim on him than she. She was shut out from his life. Ruben, disappointed, defeated. In such a one she would always, in spite of himself, have felt her rights. But Ruben, hopeful, successful, surrounded by admiring friends and relatives, fenced in more closely still by his mother's love. From the contemplation of this glittering figure, cruel triumphant, she turned away in a stony agony of self-contempt. There was a sound of carriage-wheels outside, and Lionel, who had been reconnoitering in the hall, burst in with the announcement. "'Grandpa has come!' Mrs. Lunger received the news with something like agitation. Old Solomon's visits were few and far between, and now as he came, with pompous uncertainty of step across the room, the whole group by the fireside rose hastily and went to meet him. "'Ruben is nominated,' cried Adelaide, when the old man had been established in a chair. "'Yes, yes,' said Solomon Sax, "'so I hear.' He turned to his niece. "'He ain't looking well, that boy of yours.' Mrs. Sax shifted uneasily. You saw him just before he went, Uncle Solomon, when he was tired out and not himself. He had been running from pillar to post all the week.' Mrs. Lunger muttered dejectedly. "'He's getting to look like his father.' Old Solomon raised his square hand to his beard, lifting his eyebrows high above the grave shrewd melancholy eyes. Mrs. Sax started. A sudden look of terror came into her face. The whites of her little hard eyes grew visible. "'Why don't he marry?' said Solomon Sax, after a pause. "'Why don't he marry that daughter of Cardozo's? There's not much to look at, certainly.' He added, and a wave of whimsical amusement broke out suddenly over the large, grave face. "'Yes,' put in Mrs. Lunger, unusually loquacious. His wife might see that he didn't work himself to death. "'I don't see how he can work less,' cried Adelaide, as he has his way to make, and making your way in these days means pulling a great many strings. "'Yes,' said Mrs. Sax, relieved by this view of the case. "'He must get on.' Judith began to feel that her powers of endurance had their limits. She rose slowly, went over to the fireplace for a moment, through a casual remark to Rose, and went from the room. As she made her way upstairs, the postman's knock sounded through the house, and then Lionel came running to her with a letter. Her correspondence was very small, and she glanced with but faint interest at the little package in her cousin's hand. He was carrying it seal upwards, and suddenly her heart beat with a wild, mad beating, and the colour leapt to her pale cheeks. She could see that it was sealed with wax. There was only one person that she knew who fastened his letters so. Ruben invariably made the use of the signet ring which had belonged to his father, engraved with a crest duly bought and paid for at the Herald's College. She took the precious thing in her hand, closing her fingers over it, and smiled radiantly at the little boy. "'Thank you, Lionel.' Her room gained. She locked the door, sat down on the bed, and looked at the letter. "'To Miss Judith Quirano.' The writing was certainly not Ruben's. And he never used the two. When she turned it over and examined the seal, the seal that was totally unfamiliar, she felt a little sick, a little dazed, and leaned her head against the wall. After a time she opened the letter and read it. It was from Bertie Lee Harrison who asked her to be his wife. It was a long letter and stated, amongst other things, that he had already obtained his uncle's permission to address her. Old Solomon's words as to his grandson's marriage flashed into her mind. It struck her that these plans for Ruben, for herself, were nothing less than an outrage. It struck her also that she might marry Bertie. All her courage had deserted her. All her daring of thought and feeling, in the face of a world where thought and feeling were kept apart from word and deed. She too must fall down and worship at the shrine of that great God expediency. For how, otherwise, could she live her life? Thrust out from Ruben's friendship, from all that made her happiness, shorn of self-respect, of respect of her world, how could she bear to go on in the old track? To her blind misery, her ignorance, Bertie was nothing more than a polite little figure holding open for her a door of escape. CHAPTER XVIII A Thursday, let it be. A Thursday, tell her, she shall be married to this noble earl. Romeo and Juliet The news of Bertie's proposal spread like fire in the family. Rose had a vision of Bride's maid's gowns and of belted earls at the wedding. Lionel and Sidney, who always knew everything without being told, planted wedding-cake from afar, and indulged a great deal of chaff, so to voce, at their cousin's expense. Adelaide was so excited when the news reached her that she flattened her nose with the handle of her parasol and exclaimed with her usual directness. I wonder if the noble people will receive her. Like everyone else, she took for granted that Judith would not be allowed to let slip so brilliantly into an opportunity. A little maidenly hesitation, a little genuine reluctance, perhaps, for Bertie was not the man to take a girl's fancy, and Judith would give further proof of her good sense, would open her mouth and shut her eyes and swallow what the fates had sent her. Poor Mrs. Quijano, greatly agitated, vibrated between the Walterton Road and Kensington Palace Gardens, expending quite a little fortune on blue omnibuses. It took a long time for her brother to convince her that Bertie's spurious Judaism could, for a moment, be accepted as the real thing. He is not a Jew, she reiterated obstinately. Would you let your own daughter marry him? Israel Leninger evaded the question. My dear Golda, he is as much a Jew as your eye. Her father is perfectly satisfied as well he may be. It is a brilliant match. Mrs. Leninger realized perfectly the meaning of five thousand pounds a year. Bertie's other advantages, such, for instance, as his connection with the Norwoods, had little weight with her. If he had been one of the Cardozos or one of the Silberheims, the great Jewish bankers, she could have understood all this fuss about his family. Who are the girls to marry in these days? Mrs. Sacks said later on, as she, Mrs. Quijano and Mrs. Leninger, sat in consultation. If I had unmarried daughters, I should tell them they would have to marry Germans. The extreme nature of this statement did not fail to impress her hearers, while the matrons sat in conclave in the Primrose coloured drawing-room, Judith upstairs in her own little domain was trying to come to a decision on the subject of their discussion. She had asked for time, for a few days in which to make up her mind, and of these three had already gone by. But from the first there had always been this thing in her mind, this thing from which she shrank, that she would marry Bertie. Her loneliness, her utter isolation of spirit in that crowded house where she was for the moment a centre of interest, a mark of observation, are difficult to realise. A severance of home ties had been to a certain extent involved in her change of homes. Her nearest approach to intimate women friends were Rose and Esther. As for the one friend who had wound his way into her reserved, exclusive soul, who had made a path into her enclosed, restricted life, he was her friend no more. Ruben, O humiliation, had shown her plainly that he was afraid of her. Afraid of any claims that she might choose to base on the friendship which had existed between them, there was always this thought in her mind, goading her. On the faces round her she could read nothing but anxiety that she would make up her mind without delay. She knew what was expected of her. Sometimes she thought she could have borne it better if someone had said outright, We know that you love Ruben, that Ruben loves you after a fashion, but it is no good crying for the moon. Take your half loaf and be thankful for it. It was this absolute stony ignoring of all that had gone before, which seemed to crush the life out of her. She was growing to feel that in loving Ruben she had committed a crime too shameful for decent people even to speak of, that Ruben had ever loved her, she now doubted. It had all been a chimera of the emotional female brain of which Ruben, who was subject, as we know to occasional lapses of taste, had often confided to her his contempt. Yet even now there were moments when, remembering all that had gone before, it seemed to her impossible that Ruben should do long without her. If she flew in the face of nature and said yes to Bertie, surely he would come forward and protest against such an outrage. Every day she devoured the scraps of news which the papers contained respecting the coming election at St. Baldwin's. Sometimes her mind dwelt on the splendours of the prospect held out before her, splendours which, in her ignorance, she was disposed to exaggerate. Ruben climbing to those social heights which for herself she had always deemed inaccessible, Ruben reaching the summit would find her there before him. That would impress him greatly, she knew. Let this thought be forgiven her. Let it be remembered who was her hero and how little choice they had been for her in the matter of heroes. Yet such are the contradictions of our nature that had the admirable chryton stood before her, Don Quixote, or Segalah had himself, I cannot answer for Judith that she would not have turned from them to the mixed, imperfect human creature, Ruben Sacks. So she sat there swaying this way and that, and then the door opened and her mother came in. Mrs. Quijano, we know, was not pleased at heart, but she had become very anxious for the marriage. Judith listened passively as the advantages of her future position were laid before her, then she made her protest, fully conscious of its weakness. I do not like, Mr. Lee Harrison. Of course not, said Mrs. Quijano. I should be sorry to hear that you did. No girl likes her intended at first. Judith bowed her head, conscious, ashamed. Only that afternoon Rose had said to her, We all have to marry the men we don't care for. I shall, I know, though I have a lot of money. I am not sure that it is not best in the end. Then she sighed, as a red-headed, cousinly vision rose before her mental sight. You are coming home with me," went on Mrs. Quijano, when we can talk it over comfortably. You mustn't keep the poor man waiting much longer. Mrs. Lanninger came in as Judith was tying her bonnet-strings. Judith is coming with me," said her mother. Aunt Ada drifted slowly across the room to where Judith was standing. She looked at her with her miserable eyes, rubbing her hands together, as usual. You had better write to Mr. Lee Harrison before you go. You won't get such an opportunity as this every day. Judith stared at her aunt in a sort of desperation. She, too? Aunt Ada, who all the days of her life had known wealth, splendour, importance, and, as far as could be seen, had never enjoyed an hour's happiness. She looked at the dejected, untidy figure with the load of diamonds on the fingers, the rich lace round the neck and wrists, the crumpled gown of costly silk. Aunt Ada still believed in these things, then. When diamonds, lace, and silk, did not wring her hands and cry all his vanity, hers was truly an astonishing manifestation of faith. Judith sat in her father's study in the Walterton Road. On the desk before her lay the letter which she had written and sealed to Mr. Lee Harrison, containing her acceptance of his offer. A certain relief had come with the deed. She had opened up for herself a new field of action. She would be reinstated in the eyes of her world, in Ruben's eyes, in her own. She was so strong, so cruelly vital, that it never for an instant occurred to her that she might pine and fade under her misery. She would have laughed to scorn such a thought. Not thus could she hope for escape. A new field of action, there lay her best chance. Her father came up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. He lifted her mournful glance to his. The kind, vague regard was inexpressibly soothing after the battery of eyes to which she had been recently exposed. "'I hope, my dear,' said Joshua Cajano, that you are quite happy in this engagement.' "'Oh, yes, papa,' answered Judith, but suddenly as she spoke, the tears welled to her eyes and poured down her face. Such a display of feeling on her part was without precedent. Both father and daughter were exceedingly shy, though in neither case with that shyness which manifests itself in outward physical flutter. Mr. Cajano deeply moved, stretched out his arms, and putting them about her drew her close against him. "'My dear girl, my dear girl, you are not to do this, unless you are sure it is for your happiness. But remember, there is always a home for you here. You can always come back to us.' She let her face lie on his breast, while tears flowed unchecked. His words, the kind, timid, caressing movements with which she accompanied them, were sweet to her, though in the depths of her heart she knew that there was no turning back. The real advantage—things that you could touch and see and talk about—that these were the only things which really mattered had been the unspoken gospel of her life. Now and then you allowed yourself the luxury of a fine sentiment in speech, but when it came to the point, to take the best that you could get for yourself, was the only course open to a person of sense. The push, the struggle, the hunger and greed of her world rose vividly before her. Wealth, power, success, a flaunting success for all men to see. Had she not believed in these things as the most desirable on her? Had she not always wished them to fall to the lot of the person dearest to her? Did she not believe in them still? Was she not doing her best to secure them for herself? But she was Joshua Cujano's daughter. Was it possible that she cared for none of these things? End of Chapter 17. CHAPTER 18 The essence of love is kindness, and indeed it may be best defined as passionate kindness. R. L. Stevenson. There is nothing more dear to the Jewish heart than an engagement. And when, four days after the events of the last chapter, that between Judith and Bertie was made public, congratulations flowed in. People called at all hours of the day, and the house in Kensington Palace Gardens presented a scene of cheerful activity and excitement. The community, after much discussion, much shaking of heads over the degeneracy of the times, had decided on accepting Bertie's veneer of Judaism as the real thing, and the engagement was treated like any other. If Mr. Lee Harrison had continued in the faith of his fathers, this would not have been the case. Though both engagement and marriage would, in a great number of instances, have been countenanced, their recognition would have been less formal and public, and of course a fair proportion of Jews would never have recognized them at all. As it was, the brilliancy of the match was considered a little dimmed by the fact of Bertie's not being of the Semitic race. It showed indifference sportsmanship, if nothing else, to have failed in bringing down one of the wily sons of Shem. The Samuel Saxes came over at the first opportunity to wish joy, as they themselves express it, and inspect the new fiancé. It is possible that they were not well received. For Netta gave out subsequently, whenever the Lee Harrison's were in question, we don't visit, Mama doesn't approve of mixed marriages. The day on which the engagement was announced happened also to be that of the election, and in the course of the afternoon Adelaide burst in, much excited by the double event. An overwhelming majority, she cried, Ruben is in by an overwhelming majority. Then going to Judith, she gave her a sounding kiss. I am so glad, dear," she said gushingly. Judith submitted to this display of affection with a good grace. For the last four days she had been living in a dream, a dream peopled by phantoms, who went and came, spoke and smiled, and had about them as much reality as the figures of a magic lantern. As before Bertie's proposal she had been too much preoccupied to be much aware of him, so now she continued to accept his attention in the same spirit of amiable indifference and unconsciousness. Bertie, as Gwendolyn Harloth said of Grand Court, was not disgusting. He took his love, as he took his religion, very theoretically. There was something not unpleasant in the atmosphere of respectful devotion with which she contrived to surround her. Where is your young man? Went on Adelaide, taking a seat close to Judith, and noting with admiration the rich colour in her face the wonderful brilliance of her eyes. She felt very friendly towards the girl, who was safely out of her brother's way, and was doing so remarkably well for herself. She observed to her husband, Judith looked quite good-looking. I always say there's nothing like being engaged for improving a girl's complexion. Am I my young man's keeper? answered Judith lightly. But I believe he is at Christie's. Then can you come and dine with us? went on Adelaide, who had never asked Judith to dinner before. I will get some pleasant people to meet you. You shall choose your own night. Then must come as well, if he is not too jealous. Adelaide did not mean to be cruel. She honestly believed that before the solid reality of an engagement such a vapour as unspoken, unacknowledged feeling must at once have melted, and Judith was beyond being hurt by her words. I don't know exactly when we can come. Blanche Chemists wants us to go down there for a day or two next week, and we are half-promised to Geraldine Sydenham for the week after. She pronounced these distinguished names thus familiarly with a secret amusement, a sense that there was really a great deal of fun to be got out of Adelaide. Mrs. Cohen stared open-mouthed, frankly impressed. She had no idea that Bertie's people would come round without any difficulty in that way, and visions of herself and Monty honored guests at Norwood Towers began to dance before her mental vision. Esther, noting the little comedy, smiled to herself. She had perhaps a clearer view of Judith's state of mind than any one else. Judith indeed had almost succeeded in banishing thought during the last few days. The persistent questions—what will Reuben think? When will he know?—were the nearest approach to thought she had allowed herself. Rose, who was thoroughly enjoying the engagement, had confided to Judith that, once married, she would be all right, came in at this point, and in her turn was made acquainted with the results of the election. Reuben comes back to-night by the last train, the twelve-fifteen, added Mrs. Cohen. Judith thought, he knows now. Lady Chemists would certainly have told him what that morning had been a public fact. People streamed in and out all the afternoon, greatly disappointed at not finding Bertie. At six, Judith, at the instigation of Rose, went to dress for dinner. Bertie had announced his intention of coming early. As she shut the drawing-room door behind her, the muscles of her face relaxed. She stood a moment at the foot of the stairs like a figure of stone. Mrs. Sacks emerging from Mr. Lunninger's private room, as she had been imparting the news of her son's triumph, came upon her thus. "'My dear!' she cried, going up to her. Judith roused herself for once, and held out her hand with the comedy smile which she had learned to wear these last few days. Mrs. Sacks looked up at her, curiously moved. "'My dear, I have to congratulate you!' "'And I congratulate you, Mrs. Sacks?' Their eyes met. Hitherto Judith had been too proud to make the least advance to Ruben's mother, to respond even to any advance the Latin might choose to make, but things were changed between them now. She looked down at the sallow face. The shrewd eyes lifted to hers, almost it seemed in depreciation, in sympathy almost. Her beautiful face quivered. Going forward she pressed her lips with sudden passion on the other's wrinkled cheek. End of Chapter 18