Esther, her sharp brown shoulders shuffling restlessly in and out of a gold-coloured gown of _moiré_ silk, and with a string of pearls round her neck worth a king’s ransom, surveyed the scene with shrewd, miserable eyes, while rattling on aimlessly to her partner and _protégé_, Mr. Peck. It was indeed a motley throng which was whirling and laughing and shouting across the music, in the bare, bright, flower-scented apartment. The great majority of the people were Jews--Jews belonging to varying shades of caste and clique in that socially sensitive Community. But besides these, there was a goodly contingent of Gentile dancing men--“outsiders,” according to Reuben, every one--and a smaller band of Gentile ladies who were the fashion of the hour among the sons of Shem. (“Bad form” was the label affixed by Reuben to these attractive maids and matrons.) To give distinction to the scene, there were a well-known R.A., who had painted Rose’s portrait for last year’s Academy; two or three pretty actresses; an ex-Lord Mayor, who had been knighted while in office; and last, though by no means least in the eyes of the clannish children of Israel, Caroline Cardozo and her father. “‘What a pretty girl’?” did you say, remarked Esther as the music died away. “Yes, Judith Quixano is very good-looking, but I don’t know that she goes down particularly well.” Mr. Peck made some complimentary remark, of a general character, as to the beauty of Jewish ladies. “Yes, we have some pretty women,” Esther answered; “but our men! No, the Jew, unlike the horse, is not a noble animal.” Esther, it will be seen, was of those who walk naked and are not ashamed. At this point, a fashionably late hour, a new arrival was announced, and in marched Netta and Alec Sachs, their heads very much in the air, the self-assertion of self-distrust written on every line of their ingenuous countenances. Netta, who had had a new dress from Paris for the occasion, really looked rather well in her own style, which was of the exuberant, black-haired, highly-coloured kind, and was at once greeted by one of the “outsiders” as an old friend. This was no less a person than Adelaide’s particular _protégé_, Mr. Griffiths, who, ignorant of the fine shades of Community class-distinction, engaged Miss Sachs for several dances under the eyes of his mortified patroness. Mr. Griffiths indeed was an impartial person, who, so long as you gave him a good floor, a decent supper, and a partner who could “go,” would lend the light of his presence to any ball-room whatever, whether situated in South Kensington or Maida Vale. Alec Sachs was less fortunate than his sister. There were plenty of men, and the girls whom he thought worthy of inviting to dance for the most part declared themselves engaged.