“Well, you’re almost as bad as my father, who found every thing in the Talmud.  At this rate you will certainly convert me soon; or at least I shall, like M. Jourdain, discover I’ve been orthodox all my life without knowing it.”

“I hope so,” he said gravely.  “But have you Socialistic sympathies?”

She hesitated.  As a girl she had felt the crude Socialism which is the unreasoned instinct of ambitious poverty, the individual revolt mistaking itself for hatred of the general injustice.  When the higher sphere has welcomed the Socialist, he sees he was but the exception to a contented class.  Esther had gone through the second phase and was in the throes of the third, to which only the few attain.

“I used to be a red-hot Socialist once,” she said.  “To-day I doubt whether too much stress is not laid on material conditions.  High thinking is compatible with the plainest living.  ’The soul is its own place and can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.’  Let the people who wish to build themselves lordly treasure-houses do so, if they can afford it, but let us not degrade our ideals by envying them.”

The conversation had drifted into seriousness.  Raphael’s thoughts reverted to their normal intellectual cast, but he still watched with pleasure the play of her mobile features as she expounded her opinions.

“Ah, yes, that is a nice abstract theory,” he said.  “But what if the mechanism of competitive society works so that thousands don’t even get the plainest living?  You should just see the sights I have seen, then you would understand why for some time the improvement of the material condition of the masses must be the great problem.  Of course, you won’t suspect me of underrating the moral and religious considerations.”

Esther smiled almost Imperceptibly.  The idea of Raphael, who could not see two inches before his nose, telling her to examine the spectacle of human misery would have been distinctly amusing, even if her early life had been passed among the same scenes as his.  It seemed a part of the irony of things and the paradox of fate that Raphael, who had never known cold or hunger, should be so keenly sensitive to the sufferings of others, while she who had known both had come to regard them with philosophical tolerance.  Perhaps she was destined ere long to renew her acquaintance with them.  Well, that would test her theories at any rate.

“Who is taking material views of life now?” she asked.

“It is by perfect obedience to the Mosaic Law that the kingdom of God is to be brought about on earth,” he answered.  “And in spirit, orthodox Judaism is undoubtedly akin to Socialism.”  His enthusiasm set him pacing the room as usual, his arms working like the sails of a windmill.

Esther shook her head.  “Well, give me Shakspeare,” she said.  “I had rather see Hamlet than a world of perfect prigs.”  She laughed at the oddity of her own comparison and added, still smiling:  “Once upon a time I used to think Shakspeare a fraud.  But that was merely because he was an institution.  It is a real treat to find one superstition that will stand analysis.”