And having got thus far in his ungenerously prompted speech, he felt himself unable, in the presence of Rachel, and with her reproachful eyes raised to his face, to conclude the sentence. Aaron Cohen finished it for him.
"For the matter of that," he said gently, "you all know what you may expect from a Jew. That is what you were going to say. And with this thought in your mind you came to trade with me. Well, sir, it may be that we both have something to learn."
"Mr. Cohen," said Mr. Whimpole slightly abashed, "I am sorry if I have said anything to hurt your feelings."
"The offense, sir, is atoned for by the expression of your sorrow."
This was taking high ground, and Mr. Whimpole's choler was ready to rise again; but he mastered it and said in a conciliatory tone:
"I will disguise nothing from you; I was born in this house."
"The circumstance will make it all the more valuable to us. My
dear"--impressing it upon Rachel with pleasant emphasis--"Mr. Whimpole was born in this house. A fortunate omen. Good luck will come to us, as it has come to him. It is a low-rented house, and those who have been born in it must have been poor men's children. When they rise in the world, as Mr. Whimpole has done, it is better than a horseshoe over the door. In which room were you born, Mr. Whimpole?"
"In the room on the back of the first floor," replied Mr. Whimpole, making a wild guess.
"Our bedroom. There should be a record on the walls; there should, indeed, be a record, such as is placed outside those houses in London which have been inhabited by famous people. Failing that, it is in the power of every man, assuredly of every rich man, to make for himself a record that shall be imperishable--far better, my dear sir, than the mere fixing of a plate on a cold stone wall."
Mr. Whimpole gazed at Aaron Cohen to discover if there was any trace of mockery in his face, but Aaron was perfectly grave and serious.