As for Judith, shall it be blamed her if she saw no fault? She sat there silent, now and then lifting her eyes to the far-off corner of the table where Reuben was, divided between admiration and that unacknowledged sense of terror which came over her whenever the fact of Reuben’s growing importance was brought home to her. Shall it be blamed her, I say, that she saw no fault, she who, where others were concerned, had sense of humour and critical faculty enough? Shall it be blamed her that she had a kindness for everything he said and everything he did; that he was the king and could do no wrong? Only once during the meal did their eyes meet, then he smiled quietly, almost imperceptibly--a smile for her alone. “Mr. Lee-Harrison,” said Adelaide, stretching forward her sallow, eager, inquisitive face, on either side of which the diamonds shone like lamps, and plunging her dark, ring-laden fingers into a dish of olives as she spoke; “Mr. Lee-Harrison was staying at our hotel one year at Pontresina. He was a High Churchman in those days, and hardly knew a Jew from a Mohammedan.” “He is a cousin of Lord Norwood’s,” added Monty, who cultivated the acquaintance of the peerage through the pages of _Truth_. After several years’ study of that periodical he was beginning to feel on intimate terms with many of the distinguished people who figure weekly therein. “A friend of yours, Leo!” cried Adelaide nodding across to her cousin. She had a great respect for the lad, who affected to despise class distinctions, but succeeded in getting himself invited to such “good” houses. “I know Lord Norwood,” answered Leo with an impassive air, that caused Reuben to smile under his moustache. “He was at this year’s Academy private view, don’t you remember, Monty, with that sister of his, Lady Geraldine?” went on Adelaide, undisturbed. “They are both often to be seen at Sandown,” chimed in the faithful Monty, “and at Kempton.” The Montague Cohens, those two indefatigable Peris at the gate, patronized art, and never missed a private view; patronized the turf, and at every race-meeting, with any pretensions to “smartness,” were familiar figures. There was but a brief separation of the sexes at the end of dinner, the whole party within a short space of time adjourning to the ugly, old-fashioned splendours of the drawing-room, where card-playing went on as usual. A game of whist was got up among the elders for the benefit of old Solomon, the others preferring to embark on the excitements of Polish bank with the exception of Leo, who never played cards, and Judith, who was anxious to finish a piece of embroidery she was preparing for her mother’s birthday. Reuben, who had dutifully offered himself as a whist-player and been cut out, lingered a few moments, divided between the expediency of challenging fortune at Polish bank, and the pleasantness of joining the girlish figure at the far end of the room.