“I hope so,” said Esther; “put me down as a subscriber to that paper.”

“Thank you,” he said; “I won’t forget.”

“What’s that?” said Sidney, pricking up his ears; “doubled your circulation already?”

Sidney put his cousin Addie into a hansom, as she did not care to walk, and got in beside her.

“My feet are tired,” she said; “I danced a lot last night, and was out a lot this afternoon.  It’s all very well for Raphael, who doesn’t know whether he’s walking on his head or his heels.  Here, put your collar up, Raphael, not like that, it’s all crumpled.  Haven’t you got a handkerchief to put round your throat?  Where’s that one I gave you?  Lend him yours, Sidney.”

“You don’t mind if I catch my death of cold; I’ve got to go on a Christmas dance when I deposit you on your doorstep,” grumbled Sidney.  “Catch!  There, you duffer!  It’s gone into the mud.  Sure you won’t jump in?  Plenty of room.  Addie can sit on my knee.  Well, ta, ta!  Merry Christmas.”

Raphael lit his pipe and strode off with long ungainly strides.  It was a clear frosty night, and the moonlight glistened on the silent spaces of street and square.

“Go to bed, my dear,” said Mrs. Goldsmith, returning to the lounge where Esther still sat brooding.  “You look quite worn out.”

Left alone, Mrs. Goldsmith smiled pleasantly at Mr. Goldsmith, who, uncertain of how he had behaved himself, always waited anxiously for the verdict.  He was pleased to find it was “not guilty” this time.

“I think that went off very well,” she said.  She was looking very lovely to-night, the low bodice emphasizing the voluptuous outlines of the bust.

“Splendidly,” he returned.  He stood with his coat-tails to the fire, his coarse-grained face beaming like an extra lamp.  “The people and those croquettes were A1.  The way Mary’s picked up French cookery is wonderful.”

“Yes, especially considering she denies herself butter.  But I’m not thinking of that nor of our guests.”  He looked at her wonderingly.  “Henry,” she continued impressively, “how would you like to get into Parliament?”

“Eh, Parliament?  Me?” he stammered.

“Yes, why not?  I’ve always had it in my eye.”

His face grew gloomy.  “It is not practicable,” he said, shaking the head with the prominent teeth and ears.

“Not practicable?” she echoed sharply.  “Just think of what you’ve achieved already, and don’t tell me you’re going to stop now.  Not practicable, indeed!  Why, that’s the very word you used years ago in the provinces when I said you ought to be President.  You said old Winkelstein had been in the position too long to be ousted.  And yet I felt certain your superior English would tell in the long run in such a miserable congregation of foreigners, and when Winkelstein had made that delicious blunder about the ‘university’ of the Exodus instead of the ‘anniversary,’ and I went about laughing over it in all the best circles, the poor man’s day was over.  And when we came to London, and seemed to fall again to the bottom of the ladder because our greatness was swallowed up in the vastness, didn’t you despair then?  Didn’t you tell me that we should never rise to the surface?”