“To eliminate everything Jewish?” she repeated, unable to conceal a touch of scorn. “Why, it cannot be done; the Jews have left too great an impress on the world. Religion, history, science, the fine arts, commerce, is there anything in which they have never had a place? We went to church this evening: was your enjoyment of the anthem marred because the music was composed by Mendelssohn, a Jew? And has it ever occurred to you that our Liturgy is almost entirely of Jewish origin? The _Magnificat_—what is it but the joy-song of a Jewish maiden?—the _Nunc Dimittis_, that of Simeon the Jew? Why, the whole Bible belongs to the Jews—is Jewish literature from Genesis to Revelations. And yet you would eliminate everything Jewish from your thoughts. As well try to wipe out the past and re-create the world!” She paused as the door opened to admit the Countess, who was tired of her own society, and wondered what the two could be talking about. Mamie considered it selfish of her husband to monopolise the girl’s company on the last night of her stay; but noticing the gravity of his expression, she conquered her desire to tell him so. “I hope you have thanked Patricia nicely for her kindness to Phyllis,” she said, with complacence, as she settled herself in the opposite arm-chair. “Have you decided what form the memento is to take?” Her husband looked almost disconcerted. “Not yet,” he returned dryly. “When I led up to the subject we both went off at a tangent; however, the evening is yet young.” “We want to give you a little souvenir of your visit,” Mamie explained eagerly; “but we could not decide as to what it should be, so we thought we had better ask you. I suggested a crescent brooch to replace the one you gave to the Unemployed. Do you remember that day, Patricia? What a tender-hearted goose you were!” Patricia’s colour rose. “You are very good,” she said, addressing them both, and inwardly determining not to accept any reward for her services, however delicately it might be offered. “But I really have more jewellery than I can wear already. I would rather not have a present, if you don’t mind; indeed, I haven’t the faintest idea what to choose. I have all I want.” The Premier seemed to be turning over something in his mind. “All you want?” he repeated slowly; “except—your husband.” Mamie cast him a sharp glance of interrogation, but he took no notice, and advanced towards his guest. “Lady Patricia,” he said impressively, “you do want your husband?” “Want him?” She choked down a sob. “Yes, I do want him; I long for him night and day! But you are unkind: don’t tease me, Mr. Moore!” The tears welled up in her eyes, and gathered slowly on her beautiful lashes. She felt as if he were playing with her as a cat plays with a mouse, and her whole being rose in revolt at such a lack of generous feeling. But the Premier’s features showed no sign of intended satire; he had evidently spoken in perfect faith.