She, poor soul, was of those who deny utterly the existence of the Friend of whom she stood so sorely in need.
CHAPTER VIII.
My lord, will’t please you to fall to?
Richard II.
A limp, drab-coloured group was assembled in the drawing-room at Portland Place.
It was nearly half-past seven, and it only wanted the arrival of the Samuel Sachses—who came from the St. John’s Wood synagogue—for the whole party to descend into the dining-room, where the much-needed meal awaited them.
The Leunigers were there, of course, with the exception of Ernest and his mother, who had gone home; the Sachses; the Montague Cohens; Mrs. Kohnthal and Esther, who had left her bed at the eleventh hour prompted by a desire for society; Judith; Mr. and Mrs. Quixano, their son Jack, and two young sisters.
Bertie Lee-Harrison, who had come in with Reuben, pale, exhausted, but prepared to be impressed by every thing and every one he saw, confided to his friend that the twenty-four hours’ fast had been the severest ordeal he had as yet undergone in the service of religion—his experiences in Asia Minor not excepted.
Leo, whose mood had changed, overheard this confidence with an irresistible twitching of the lips. He was sitting on the big sofa with his two little brothers, making jokes below his breath to their immense delight; while Rose, at the other end of the same piece of furniture, was maintaining an animated conversation with her cousin Jack.
Jack Quixano was a spruce, dapper, polite young man of some twenty-four or twenty-five years of age. Perhaps he was a little too spruce, a little too dapper, a little too anxious to put himself en évidence by his assiduity in picking up handkerchiefs and opening doors. But few of his family noticed these defects, least of all Rose, on whom he was beginning to cast aspiring eyes, and whom he closely resembled in personal appearance.
The door opened at last, to every one’s relief, to admit the expected guests: a party of six—father, mother, grown-up son and daughter, a little girl and a little boy.