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
indifferent sportsmanship, if nothing else, to have failed in bringing
down one of the wily sons of Shem.
The Samuel Sachses came over at the first opportunity to _wish joy_, as
they themselves expressed it, and inspect the new _fiancé_.
It is possible that they were not well received, for Netta gave out
subsequently, whenever the Lee-Harrisons were in question: “We don’t
visit. Mamma 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; “Reuben is in by an overwhelming
majority.”
Then going up 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, but had about 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 attentions in the same
spirit of amiable indifference and unconsciousness. Bertie, as Gwendolen
Harleth said of Grandcourt, 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 he
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.
Afterwards she observed to her husband: “Judith looked quite
good-looking. I always say there is 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.”
“When 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. Reuben 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 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 Kemys 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 honoured 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, and 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 12.15,” added Mrs.
Cohen.
Judith thought: “He knows now.”
Lady Kemys 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. Sachs, emerging from Mr. Leuniger’s private room, where 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 at once, and held out her hand with the
comedy-smile which she had learned to wear these last few days.
Mrs. Sachs looked up at her, curiously moved. “My dear, I have to
congratulate you.”
“And I to congratulate you, Mrs. Sachs.”
Their eyes met.
Hitherto Judith had been too proud to make the least advance to Reuben’s
mother, to respond even to any advance the latter 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 deprecation, in sympathy almost.
Her beautiful face quivered; stooping forward, she pressed her lips with
sudden passion to the other’s wrinkled cheek.