6
“That was Miss Teresa Szigmondy” said Mr. Hancock, reproducing his amused smile as they took their seats in the dark theatre.
“Is she German?”
“Well ... I think, as a matter of fact, she’s part Austro-Hungarian and part—well, Hebrew.” A Jewess ... Miriam left her surroundings, pondering over a sudden little thread of memory. An eager, very bright-eyed, curiously dimpling school-girl face peering into hers, and a whispering voice—“D’you know why we don’t go down to prayers? ’Cos we’re Jews”—they had always been late; fresh faced and shiny haired and untidy and late and clever in a strange brisk way and talkative and easy and popular with the teachers.... Their guttural voices ringing out about the stairs and passages, deep and loud and stronger than any of the voices of the other girls. The Hyamson girls—they had been foreigners, like the Siggs and the de Bevers, but different ... what was the difference in a Jew? Mr. Hancock seemed to think it was a sort of disgraceful joke ... what was it? Max Sonnenheim had been a Jew, of course, the same voice. Banbury Park “full of Jews” ... the Brooms said that in patient contemptuous voices. But what was it? What did everybody mean about them?
“Is she scientific?”
“She seems to be interested in science” smiled Mr. Hancock.
“How funny of her to ask me to go to tea with her just because you told her I knew German.”
“Well, you go; if you’re interested in seeing notabilities you’ll meet all kinds of wonderful people at her house. She knows everybody. She’s the niece of a great Hungarian poet. I believe he’s to be seen there sometimes. They’re all coming in now.” Mr. Hancock named the great names of science one by one as the shyly gentle and the pompously gentle little old men ambled and marched into the well of the theatre and took their seats in a circle round the central green table.