Adelaide did not mean to be cruel. She honestly believed that before the solid reality of an engagement, such vapour as unspoken, unacknowledged feeling must at once have melted. And Judith was beyond being hurt by her words. “I don’t know exactly when we can come. Blanche Kemys wants us to go down there for a day or two next week. And we are half promised to Geraldine Sydenham for the week after.” She pronounced these distinguished names thus familiarly with a secret amusement, a sense that there was really a great deal of fun to be got out of Adelaide. Mrs. Cohen stared open-mouthed, frankly impressed. She had no idea that Bertie’s people would come round without any difficulty in that way, and visions of herself and Monty honoured guests at Norwood Towers began to dance before her mental vision. Esther, noting the little comedy, smiled to herself. She had perhaps a clearer view of Judith’s state of mind than any one else. Judith indeed had almost succeeded in banishing thought during the last few days. The persistent questions: “What will Reuben think?” “When will he know?” were the nearest approach to thought she had allowed herself. Rose, who was thoroughly enjoying the engagement, and had confided to Judith that, once married, “she would be all right” came in at this point, and in her turn was made acquainted with the results of the election. “Reuben comes back to-night by the last train, the 12.15,” added Mrs. Cohen. Judith thought: “He knows now.” Lady Kemys would certainly have told him what that morning had been a public fact. People streamed in and out all the afternoon, greatly disappointed at not finding Bertie. At six Judith, at the instigation of Rose, went to dress for dinner. Bertie had announced his intention of coming early. As she shut the drawing-room door behind her, the muscles of her face relaxed, she stood a moment at the foot of the stairs like a figure of stone. Mrs. Sachs, emerging from Mr. Leuniger’s private room, where she had been imparting the news of her son’s triumph, came upon her thus. “My dear!” she cried, going up to her. Judith roused herself at once, and held out her hand with the comedy-smile which she had learned to wear these last few days. Mrs. Sachs looked up at her, curiously moved. “My dear, I have to congratulate you.” “And I to congratulate you, Mrs. Sachs.” Their eyes met. Hitherto Judith had been too proud to make the least advance to Reuben’s mother, to respond even to any advance the latter might choose to make. But things were changed between them now. She looked down at the sallow face, the shrewd eyes lifted to hers, almost, it seemed, in deprecation, in sympathy almost. Her beautiful face quivered; stooping forward, she pressed her lips with sudden passion to the other’s wrinkled cheek. CHAPTER XIX.