The spell was broken; every one rose, and the card-players, who by this time were hungry, came strolling in from the other room. Reuben found himself the centre of much handshaking and congratulation on his improved appearance. He was popular with his relatives, enjoying his popularity and accepting it gracefully. “No airs, like that stuck up Leo,” the aunts and uncles used to say. “There’s a spread in the dining-room; won’t you stay?” said Rose, as Reuben held out his hand in farewell. “Not to-night.” He turned last of all to Judith, who stood there silent, with smiling eyes. “To-morrow in Portland Place,” he said, clasping her hand with lingering fingers. As he walked home in the warm September night he had for once neither ears nor eyes for the city pageant so dear to him. He heard and saw nothing but the sound of Leo’s violin, and the face of Judith Quixano. CHAPTER IV. The full sum of me Is an untutored girl, unschooled, unpractised. _Merchant of Venice._ Judith Quixano had lived with the Leunigers ever since she was fifteen years old. Her mother, Israel Leuniger’s sister, had been thought to do very well for herself when she married Joshua Quixano, who came of a family of Portuguese merchants, the _vieille noblesse_ of the Jewish community. That was before the days of Leuniger’s prosperity; now here, as elsewhere, the prestige of birth had dwindled, that of money had increased. The Quixanos were a large family, and they had grown poorer with the years; very gratefully did they welcome the offer of the rich uncle to adopt their eldest daughter. So Judith had been borne away from the little crowded house in a dreary region lying somewhere between Westbourne Park and Maida Vale to the splendours of Kensington Palace Gardens. Here she had shared everything with her cousin Rose: the French and German governesses, the expensive music lessons, the useless, pretentious “finishing” lessons from innumerable masters. Later on, the girls, who were about of an age, had gone together into such society as their set afforded; and here, again, no difference had been made between them. The gowns and bonnets of Rose were neither more splendid nor more abundant than those of her poor relation, nor her invitations to parties more numerous. Rose, it is true, had a fortune of £50,000; but it was a matter of common knowledge that her uncle would settle £5000 on Judith when she married. The cousins were good friends after a fashion. Rose was a materialist to her fingers’ ends; she was lacking in the finer feelings, perhaps even in the finer honesties. But on the other hand she was easy to live with, good-tempered, good-natured, high-spirited; qualities which cover a multitude of sins.