“And what did you think of it?  I don’t remember your expressing an opinion at table.”

She pondered an instant.

“I thought highly of it and agreed with every word of it.”  She paused.  He looked expectantly into the dark intense face.  He saw it was charged with further speech.

“Till I met you,” she concluded abruptly.

A wave of emotion passed over his face.

“You don’t mean that?” he murmured.

“Yes, I do.  You have shown me new lights.”

“I thought I was speaking platitudes,” he said simply.  “It would be nearer the truth to say you have given me new lights.”

The little face flushed with pleasure; the dark skin shining, the eyes sparkling.  Esther looked quite pretty.

“How is that possible?” she said.  “You have read and thought twice as much as I.”

“Then you must be indeed poorly off,” he said, smiling.  “But I am really glad we met.  I have been asked to edit a new Jewish paper, and our talk has made me see more clearly the lines on which it must be run, if it is to do any good.  I am awfully indebted to you.”

“A new Jewish paper?” she said, deeply interested.  “We have so many already.  What is its raison d’etre?”

“To convert you,” he said smiling, but with a ring of seriousness in the words.

“Isn’t that like a steam-hammer cracking a nut or Hoti burning down his house to roast a pig?  And suppose I refuse to take in the new Jewish paper?  Will it suspend publication?” He laughed.

“What’s this about a new Jewish paper?” said Mrs. Goldsmith, suddenly appearing in front of them with her large genial smile.  “Is that what you two have been plotting?  I noticed you’ve laid your heads together all the evening.  Ah well, birds of a feather flock together.  Do you know my little Esther took the scholarship for logic at London?  I wanted her to proceed to the M.A. at once, but the doctor said she must have a rest.”  She laid her hand affectionately on the girl’s hair.

Esther looked embarrassed.

“And so she is still a Bachelor,” said Raphael, smiling but evidently impressed.

“Yes, but not for long I hope,” returned Mrs. Goldsmith.  “Come, darling, everybody’s dying to hear one of your little songs.”

“The dying is premature,” said Esther.  “You know I only sing for my own amusement.”

“Sing for mine, then,” pleaded Raphael.

“To make you laugh?” queried Esther.  “I know you’ll laugh at the way I play the accompaniment.  One’s fingers have to be used to it from childhood—­”

Her eyes finished the sentence, “and you know what mine was.”

The look seemed to seal their secret sympathy.

She went to the piano and sang in a thin but trained soprano.  The song was a ballad with a quaint air full of sadness and heartbreak.  To Raphael, who had never heard the psalmic wails of “The Sons of the Covenant” or the Polish ditties of Fanny Belcovitch, it seemed also full of originality.  He wished to lose himself in the sweet melancholy, but Mrs. Goldsmith, who had taken Esther’s seat at his side, would not let him.