His very readiness to fall down utterly before her, seemed to her—alas, poor Judith!—in itself a brand of inferiority.
“Tea at last,” cried Rose, as the door opened. “And Adelaide. What a scent you have for tea, Addie.”
Mrs. Montague Cohen swept in past the servant with the tray and took possession of the best chair.
“Mamma is here too,” she cried; “she and aunt Ada will be in in a minute.”
She drew off her gloves and the two girls rose to greet Mrs. Sachs, who at this point came with Mrs. Leuniger into the room.
Judith gave her hand very quietly to Reuben’s mother, then took her seat at some distance from the group round the tea-table, occupying herself with cutting the leaves of a novel that had just arrived from Mudie’s.
“Reuben is nominated,” cried Adelaide, as she helped herself liberally to tea-cake. “We had a telegram this morning.”
“He expects to get in this time?” said Mrs. Leuniger, her pessimistic mind reverting naturally to her nephew’s first unsuccessful attempt at embarking on a political career.
“It won’t be for want of interest if he doesn’t,” said Mrs. Sachs; “Sir Nicholas Kemys and his wife are working day and night for him—day and night.”
“And Miss Lee-Harrison, Lady Kemys’ sister, she seems to be quite specially zealous in the good cause,” put in Adelaide with meaning.