Part 15 (1/2)

”Say it openly, without baptism.”

A deep flush covered her face, and in her eyes there were restrained tears.

To what had the conversation led her? To a point at which he could not but be hurt. She looked at him helplessly, unable to utter a word. At length she stammered, ”O no, that--I--that was not intended--I....”

”Why should they not say it? In reality, it is not an easy matter for those gentlemen to attain the positions that are their due; and therefore their promotion is received with especial delight, not only by the family, but by the congregation, by the whole race. And now at last I hear the tale from a wholly fair and unprejudiced source.”

She gazed at him with open doubt.

”Aren't you unprejudiced, Miss Rita?”

”Not any longer,” she answered, with a sigh. At this moment her mother entered.

”Rita, Betty is going to sing, won't you accompany her?”

She arose quickly, as though released from some dread oppression.

”Gladly, mother.”

He looked at her with a quiet smile. She noticed it, and was again overcome by her shyness. What must he think of her? Like a babbling, foolish child, she had inconsiderately touched upon subjects bound to lead to painful discussions,--topics that all had tactfully avoided, all except herself, the last person to intend an insult. If Hugo had said such a thing, how it would have irritated her, and in his case it might have been excusable; but she--was it fate, a spell that forced her thoughts in such directions? It seemed as though these questions cast a shadow over her every thought and action. That an innocent conversation should suddenly and involuntarily take a turn that gives an equivocal meaning to everything said, should give her words unintended innuendo and insinuations--nothing was farther from her thoughts; and yet the thing had occurred. It was only the interruption of her mother that had saved her from further indiscretions.

”Our cousin Betty, Mrs. Lesser, has a charming voice.”

”So Miss Rita has just told me.”

”So, Rita, you have been entertaining our guest with the recital of the talents of our family?”

”She has done so, excellently; I have the liveliest interest in them, and am truly grateful to your daughter.”

He looked at Rita with a lingering glance. She returned it. Their eyes met, and then she bowed silently and went into the music-room. Presently Schubert's ”Wanderer,” was heard, beautifully rendered.

”And ever longing asketh where!” was the sad, melancholy refrain. ”Ever where!”

He shook his head as if to rid himself of a sad thought.

Dr. Weilen took leave, promising to come soon again. Both Mr. and Mrs.

Benas had invited him to repeat his call. The other guests, who had gathered in the drawing-room, remained to chat a little more and enjoy a gla.s.s of Pilsener.

”You may say what you will, Benas, it is more congenial when we are by ourselves,” said Mr. Freudenthal.

”You are too exclusive, Isi,” said Mrs. Benas. ”Surely I am the last who would plead for a mixed choir, since we have been plainly given to understand that our voices do not please; but there is nothing about Dr.

Weilen that disturbs our company or seems strange. Even on the first evening he came, he struck the right note, and he seemed one of us. He really is at bottom. One cannot deny one's kin.”

”But it took a long time for him to remember,” Mr. Friedheim said ironically.

”Only until an opportune moment arrived. How should he have known that the names Lesser and Friedheim belonged to his family? He was still a boy when connections were broken off with his mother's family, and he has never had any occasion to resume the relation,” added Mr. Benas.

”Friedheim, he knows you through your commentary; Lesser, you, through your 'Order of Bankruptcy,' your names are well known to the lawyer; but that is no reason for him to have supposed you to be his Mishpocheh. It was very evident that he was pleased to discover the additional tie.” He laughed jovially. ”That's human nature, but the feeling of satisfaction when special honor comes to any member of the family, is particularly developed among us. Even he does not deny this, and why? Estrangement does not change one's inherited nature.”

”But habit and education do. Whoever alienates himself and cuts himself off, becomes an exile and a stranger,” said Mr. Freudenthal.