Her room gained, she locked the door, sat down on the bed, and looked at her letter-- “To Miss Judith Quixano.” The writing was certainly not Reuben’s, and he never used the “To.” Then she turned it over and examined the seal, the seal that was totally unfamiliar. She felt a little sick, a little dazed, and leaned her head against the wall. After a time she opened the letter and read it. It was from Bertie Lee-Harrison, who asked her to be his wife. It was a long letter, and stated, amongst other things, that he had already obtained his uncle’s permission to address her. Old Solomon’s words as to his grandson’s marriage flashed into her mind. It struck her that these plans for Reuben, for herself, were nothing less than an outrage. It struck her also that she might marry Bertie. All her courage had deserted her, all her daring of thought and feeling, in the face of a world where thought and feeling were kept apart from word and deed. She too must fall down and worship at the shrine of the great god Expediency. For how, otherwise, could she live her life? Thrust out from Reuben’s friendship, from all that made her happiness; shorn of self-respect, of the respect of her world; how could she bear to go on in the old track? To her blind misery, her ignorance, Bertie was nothing more than a polite little figure holding open for her a door of escape. CHAPTER XVII. O’ Thursday let it be: o’ Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl. _Romeo and Juliet._ The news of Bertie’s proposal spread like fire in the family. Rose had a vision of bridesmaids’ gowns and of belted earls at the wedding. Lionel and Sidney, who always knew everything without being told, scented wedding-cake from afar, and indulged in a great deal of chaff _sotto voce_ at their cousin’s expense. Adelaide was so excited when the news reached her, that she flattened her nose with the handle of her parasol, and exclaimed with her usual directness: “I wonder if the Norwood people will receive her.” Like every one else, she took for granted that Judith would not be allowed to let slip so brilliant an opportunity. A little maidenly hesitation, a little genuine reluctance perhaps--for Bertie was not the man to take a girl’s fancy--and Judith would give further proof of her good sense; would open her mouth and shut her eyes and swallow what the Fates had sent her. Poor Mrs. Quixano, greatly agitated, vibrated between the Walterton Road and Kensington Palace Gardens, expending quite a little fortune on blue omnibuses. It took a long time for her brother to convince her that Bertie’s spurious Judaism could for a moment be accepted as the real thing. “He is not a Jew,” she reiterated obstinately; “would you let your own daughter marry him?” Israel Leuniger evaded the question. “My dear Golda, he is as much a Jew as you or I. Her father is perfectly satisfied, as well he may be--it is a brilliant match.”