“It didn’t seem probable, did it?” he murmured in self-defence.

“Of course not.  That’s just my point.  Your getting into the House of Commons doesn’t seem probable now.  But in those days your getting merely to know M.P.’s was equally improbable.  The synagogal dignities were all filled up by old hands, there was no way of getting on the Council and meeting our magnates.”

“Yes, but your solution of that difficulty won’t do here.  I had not much difficulty in persuading the United Synagogue that a new synagogue was a crying want in Kensington, but I could hardly persuade the government that a new constituency is a crying want in London.”  He spoke pettishly; his ambition always required rousing and was easily daunted.

“No, but somebody’s going to start a new something else, Henry,” said Mrs. Goldsmith with enigmatic cheerfulness.  “Trust in me; think of what we have done in less than a dozen years at comparatively trifling costs, thanks to that happy idea of a new synagogue—­you the representative of the Kensington synagogue, with a ‘Sir’ for a colleague and a congregation that from exceptionally small beginnings has sprung up to be the most fashionable in London; likewise a member of the Council of the Anglo-Jewish Association and an honorary officer of the Shechitah Board; I, connected with several first-class charities, on the Committee of our leading school, and the acknowledged discoverer of a girl who gives promise of doing something notable in literature or music.  We have a reputation for wealth, culture and hospitality, and it is quite two years since we shook off the last of the Maida Vale lot, who are so graphically painted in that novel of Mr. Armitage’s.  Who are our guests now?  Take to-night’s!  A celebrated artist, a brilliant young Oxford man, both scions of the same wealthy and well-considered family, an authoress of repute who dedicates her books (by permission) to the very first families of the community; and lastly the Montagu Samuels with the brother, Percy Saville, who both go only to the best houses.  Is there any other house, where the company is so exclusively Jewish, that could boast of a better gathering?”

“I don’t say anything against the company,” said her husband awkwardly, “it’s better than we got in the Provinces.  But your company isn’t your constituency.  What constituency would have me?”

“Certainly, no ordinary constituency would have you,” admitted his wife frankly.  “I am thinking of Whitechapel.”

“But Gideon represents Whitechapel.”

“Certainly; as Sidney Graham says, he represents it very well.  But he has made himself unpopular, his name has appeared in print as a guest at City banquets, where the food can’t be kosher.  He has alienated a goodly proportion of the Jewish vote.”

“Well?” said Mr. Goldsmith, still wonderingly.