“Now is the time to bid for his shoes.  Raphael Leon is about to establish a new Jewish paper.  I was mistaken about that young man.  You remember my telling you I had heard he was eccentric and despite his brilliant career a little touched on religious matters.  I naturally supposed his case was like that of one or two other Jewish young men we know and that he yearned for spirituality, and his remarks at table rather confirmed the impression.  But he is worse than that—­and I nearly put my foot in it—­his craziness is on the score of orthodoxy!  Fancy that!  A man who has been to Harrow and Oxford longing for a gaberdine and side curls!  Well, well, live and learn.  What a sad trial for his parents!” She paused, musing.

“But, Rosetta, what has Raphael Leon to do with my getting into Parliament?”

“Don’t be stupid, Henry.  Haven’t I explained to you that Leon is going to start an orthodox paper which will be circulated among your future constituents.  It’s extremely fortunate that we have always kept our religion.  We have a widespread reputation for orthodoxy.  We are friends with Leon, and we can get Esther to write for the paper (I could see he was rather struck by her).  Through this paper we can keep you and your orthodoxy constantly before the constituency.  The poor people are quite fascinated by the idea of rich Jews like us keeping a strictly kosher table; but the image of a Member of Parliament with phylacteries on his forehead will simply intoxicate them.”  She smiled, herself, at the image; the smile that always intoxicated Percy Saville.

“You’re a wonderful woman, Rosetta,” said Henry, smiling in response with admiring affection and making his incisors more prominent.  He drew her head down to him and kissed her lips.  She returned his kiss lingeringly and they had a flash of that happiness which is born of mutual fidelity and trust.

“Can I do anything for you, mum, afore I go to bed?” said stout old Mary O’Reilly, appearing at the door.  Mary was a privileged person, unappalled even by the butler.  Having no relatives, she never took a holiday and never went out except to Chapel.

“No, Mary, thank you.  The dinner was excellent.  Good night and merry Christmas.”

“Same to you, mum,” and as the unconscious instrument of Henry Goldsmith’s candidature turned away, the Christmas bells broke merrily upon the night.  The peals fell upon the ears of Raphael Leon, still striding along, casting a gaunt shadow on the hoar-frosted pavement, but he marked them not; upon Addie sitting by her bedroom mirror thinking of Sidney speeding to the Christmas dance; upon Esther turning restlessly on the luxurious eider-down, oppressed by panoramic pictures of the martyrdom of her race.  Lying between sleep and waking, especially when her brain had been excited, she had the faculty of seeing wonderful vivid visions, indistinguishable from realities.  The martyrs who mounted the scaffold and the stake all had the face of Raphael.