... This life’s end, and this love-bliss have been lost here. Doubt you whether This she felt, as looking at me, mine and her souls rushed together? BROWNING: _Christina_. Esther sat a little apart, watching the lovers. “Does she think he is a cardboard man to play with, or an umbrella to take shelter under?” she reflected. “A lover may be a shadowy creature, but husbands are made of flesh and blood. Doesn’t she see already that he is as obstinate as a mule, and as whimsical as a goat?” And she repeated the phrase to herself well pleased with it. It was Sunday, the day following that of the election. A great family party had dined in Kensington Palace Gardens, and now were awaiting Reuben in the primrose-coloured drawing-room. Judith, side by side with Bertie, was listening amiably to a fluent account of his adventures in Asia Minor, in which he dwelt a great deal on his state of mind and state of health at the time; while Rose played scraps of music for the benefit of Jack Quixano, who had a taste for comic opera. Judith was in such a state of tension as scarcely to be conscious of pain. Her duties as _fiancée_ were clearly marked out; anything was better than those days of chaos, of upheaval, which had preceded her engagement. Esther’s favourite phrase, that marriage was an opiate, had occurred to her more than once during the past week. “I sat up all night long, and read every word of it. I was determined to make up my mind once for all,” Bertie was saying. Rose, at the piano, put her hand on her hip and hummed a scrap from a music-hall song, while Jack whistled an accompaniment: “Stop the cab, Stop the cab, Woh, woh, woh!” The hall-door banged to with some violence. The voices of Lionel and Sidney were heard upraised without: “Vote for Sachs! Vote for Sachs, the people’s friend!” Then came the sound of another voice-- “My head was like a live coal, and my feet were as cold as stones ...” went on Bertie. Judith looked sympathetic, and her heart leaped suddenly within her: it had not yet unlearnt the trick of leaping at the sound of Reuben’s voice. Lionel flung open the door and capered into the room. Behind him came Reuben Sachs. Judith knew nothing more till she and Reuben were standing face to face, holding one another’s hands. Whatever had happened before, whatever happened afterwards, she will remember to the day of her death that in that one moment, at least, they understood one another. No need for question, for answer, for explanation of motives and feelings. It was all as clear as daylight, in that strange, brief, interminable moment which to the onlookers showed nothing more than a pale, tired-looking gentleman offering his congratulations on her engagement to a flushed, bright-eyed lady. Even that sharp battery of eyes could discover nothing more than this. It was not long before the hall-door closed again upon Reuben. He flung out into the night.