And in a great measure he succeeded. There were very few who came under Herbert Karne’s influence who did not benefit by it. He imbued them with self-respect, and gave them back their sense of manhood. When they left the factory--generally to better their position in some way--they were, most of them, better men and nobler Jews than when they had entered it. Their backs were no longer bowed with the yoke of oppression. They held their heads erect, and were able once again to look the whole world in the face. It was a Sunday afternoon in late summer, and Karne’s grounds were thrown open to receive his friends and _protègèes_. A small piano had been brought out on the lawn, and somebody was playing one of Strauss’ most inspiriting waltzes. The men smoked, and nodded their heads to the music, and talked to each other of the hardships of bygone days. The women darned their stockings, and watched pretty Miss Celia flitting about in her white dress, with a sweet smile and a kindly word for each one of them. The dark-eyed children chased each other over the turf, danced round the piano, and enjoyed themselves thoroughly. Some of them wandered towards the studio, and, standing before the long French windows, gazed with feelings of awe at the paintings which were the handiwork of their benefactor. How lovely it must be to be able to paint wonderful pictures like those, they thought! Herbert Karne was employed in amusing the babies. They kept him fully occupied, and demanded all his attention. One little olive-skinned maiden sat on his knee; another tugged at his hair; and a third played with his watch-chain. Their host enjoyed it all quite as much as they did themselves; he was passionately fond of children. A gentleman was coming out of the house and across the lawn. Mr. Karne handed the children back to their mothers, and came forward to greet him. “Glad to see you, Geoffrey,” he said, as they shook hands. “Celia was just wishing that you were here. They wanted her to sing, but she was quite at a loss without you to play her accompaniments. By-the-by, Geoff, it’s quite decided; she is to go away.” The young man’s face fell perceptibly. “I am very sorry,” he said, and his voice was quite husky. “But I think you are quite right, Karne. Celia has a great future before her, and she is utterly wasted here in this sleepy little place. With her voice, and her personality, she will have all London at her feet some day. You will send her to Marchesi in Paris, I suppose?” “No; Professor Bemberger thinks she will do just as well at the Academy in London, or, at least, until her voice is more fully developed. I did not like the idea of sending her abroad. We have friends in London, and she will not feel so isolated there.”