“It is all very beautiful in theory,” said Esther.  “But so is Christianity, which is also not to be charged with its historical caricatures, nor with its superiority to average human nature.  As for the doctrine of original sin, it is the one thing that the science of heredity has demonstrated, with a difference.  But do not be alarmed, I do not call myself a Christian because I see some relation between the dogmas of Christianity and the truths of experience, nor even because”—­here she smiled, wistfully—­“I should like to believe in Jesus.  But you are less logical.  When you said there was no devil, I felt sure I was right; that you belong to the modern schools, who get rid of all the old beliefs but cannot give up the old names.  You know, as well as I do, that, take away the belief in hell, a real old-fashioned hell of fire and brimstone, even such Judaism as survives would freeze to death without that genial warmth.”

“I know nothing of the kind,” he said, “and I am in no sense a modern.  I am (to adopt a phrase which is, to me, tautologous) an orthodox Jew.”

Esther smiled.  “Forgive my smiling,” she said.  “I am thinking of the orthodox Jews I used to know, who used to bind their phylacteries on their arms and foreheads every morning.”

“I bind my phylacteries on my arm and forehead every morning,” he said, simply.

“What!” gasped Esther.  “You an Oxford man!”

“Yes,” he said, gravely.  “Is it so astonishing to you?”

“Yes, it is.  You are the first educated Jew I have ever met who believed in that sort of thing.”

“Nonsense?” he said, inquiringly.  “There are hundreds like me.”

She shook her head.

“There’s the Rev. Joseph Strelitski.  I suppose he does, but then he’s paid for it.”

“Oh, why will you sneer at Strelitski?” he said, pained.  “He has a noble soul.  It is to the privilege of his conversation that I owe my best understanding of Judaism.”

“Ah, I was wondering why the old arguments sounded so different, so much more convincing, from your lips,” murmured Esther.  “Now I know; because he wears a white tie.  That sets up all my bristles of contradiction when he opens his mouth.”

“But I wear a white tie, too,” said Raphael, his smile broadening in sympathy with the slow response on the girl’s serious face.

“That’s not a trade-mark,” she protested.  “But forgive me; I didn’t know Strelitski was a friend of yours.  I won’t say a word against him any more.  His sermons really are above the average, and he strives more than the others to make Judaism more spiritual.”

“More spiritual!” he repeated, the pained expression returning.  “Why, the very theory of Judaism has always been the spiritualization of the material.”

“And the practice of Judaism has always been the materialization of the spiritual,” she answered.

He pondered the saying thoughtfully, his face growing sadder.